Oneshot Heaven!
by IceEckos12
Summary: 45th oneshot: It's night of the full moon, and the Underworld is saying their prayers, hoping nothing goes amiss. However a small incident leads to a big problem, forcing two enemies to work together to prevent the destruction of the entire town. Can Elizaveta the vampire huntress put aside her hatred, or will her pride rip her and the rest of the city apart?
1. Late

**Disclaimer: Oh COME ON! I didn't own Hetalia in the last story, and I don't own it now!**

Lithuania frowned, glancing at his watch impatiently and feeling a twitch of annoyance. Why wouldn't he just _hurry up_?

"I'm, like, sorry! One minute!" a girlish voice squeaked from inside.

"_I've been waiting 30…" _he hissed while grinding his teeth. He wondered if Poland would mind if he kicked down the door.

His thoughts were interrupted by the slightly flushed man who had finally decided to appear at the door. Poland's smile brightened and he flew at the other nation, pulling him into a tight hug. "Like, you came, Liet!"

Lithuania sighed, just resting his chin on Poland's shoulder. He had lost again. There was no resisting this man's impossible charm.

That was about when Lithuania noticed what Poland was _wearing. _Feeling a blush rise to his cheeks, Lithuania pushed Poland away to get a better look. "What… What're you…Feliks!"

Poland glanced down almost dismissively at the pink skirt he was wearing, dragging Lithuania inside the apartment. "Like, my coworkers are so going to _love _you!"

Poland unceremoniously shoved Lithuania onto the couch before swirling away, looking for his high-heels. "I know they're around here somewhere…"

Lithuania blinked. "Didn't I tell you to quit cross-dressing at work?"

The comment went in one ear and was analyzed for a moment—before being tossed out the other ear. Poland shrugged his shoulders under his white blouse, silky blond hair slipping down his shoulders. "I just felt like it," he supplied unhelpfully.

"Poland…" Lithuania growled warningly.

"It's Fela while we're at work, okay?"

Lithuania forced a nod.

"Great!" Poland cheered, wrapping his arm around Lithuania's waist, bumping his hip slightly. Lithuania fought down a blush, but he did finally give in and wrap one arm around Poland's shoulders.

"Fine," He muttered. "…but just because I'm going doesn't mean I have to like it."

Poland just beamed.

**Listen, before you start mobbing me and stuff… I was thinking. Since I write ridiculously long chapters, it takes a bit for me to write them. **_**Then**_** I'm a naturally lazy person, so—another few days. And now that I'm really busy with school and stuff it takes a really long time for me to update anything with more than 1,000 words in it. So… what if I just wrote a story mainly dedicated to drabbles? Then, you still get to enjoy reading something, and you also get to know that I'm still alive. If I stop updating this story, it means I either A) (God forbid) have finally stopped writing on FFA, or B) Am dead. **

**This is my drabbles story. As you can see, this first one is fluff… such a foreign word *shudders*. I'm not one for romance, so this one just came out of the blue. Bottom line: Poland is cross-dressing to work and Lithuania is not happy. I'm not sure if I should continue this one-shot into another chapter, so you get to decide. Also, if you're not happy with the way any of the one-shots ended, you can continue is as a chapter story or another one-shot (with my permission of course). Also I might do favor one-shots for friends, like Phamenia or Jinnia(my sister).**

**If I get desperate and start running out of ideas, I'll ask you guys for help. If I like it enough I'll even use a reader's ideas now. Now: Read and Review!**

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	2. Speechless

**Disclaimer: Really? I don't own APH!**

England looked around, angrily searching for the loud American. He'd heard the boy just a few moments ago, stomping around the room like a bull in a china shop. Of course, the boy never tried to be quiet.

"France!" He shouted suddenly, whipping around to face the country of romance. "Where's America?"

France grinned, a rose mysteriously appearing in his hand. "Oh, England, how could I _possibly _know where he is?"

England growled menacingly, obviously annoyed. "You know where he is, don't you frog!"

The frog shrugged. "I don't know where he is this time, honestly. How you could possibly lose him, though…"

Growling, England through his hands into the air. "He never talks, that's why! If only he could call back, then we wouldn't be in this mess!"

It was true; America never spoke. His footsteps were loud; everything about him screamed he should be annoying, obnoxious and brash. However, that was not how it worked. Even when he was a child, America had naturally been silent, and it had gotten steadily worse as the years progressed. After the revolution, America had gone completely silent, never speaking to anyone ever again. England tried, France tried, Russia tried, even Gilbert tried (Instead of using words to describe how mad he was, America punched him into a wall), but none of them could get America to speak.

France was silent for a moment, contemplating. Then, he spoke as though one would speak when they had just reached an enormous breakthrough. "What if America can't speak…?"

England let out a loud snort. "He sounded fine as a child."

He shook his head vigorously. "No, think about it! What does America stand for?"

"Freedom, strength, power…? At least, that's what _he _thinks."

"Yes, and freedom of speech!"

England cocked his head inquisitively. "What're you blathering on about?"

"No one person can represent America, but there has to be a representative. No person can speak for America's entire country since he's so free, so maybe he can't speak at all!"

The truth dawned in England's eyes just as America walked obliviously back into the room.

**Ah, yes… me again. So here's the second chapter. It started as a what if and ended as this. **_**This**_** is an AU, as you can see. It's going commando (no beta-ing), so it might be a little…off, but I was done relying on my sister who takes a week to do less than 500 words. So… thanks! And thanks to Phamenia for reviewing first!**__


	3. Dreaming of You

**Disclaimer: Reader no baka! I don't own APH!**

The room buzzed with commotion.

It was no different than the ordinary buzz—but that's not important right now.

The subject of our story is a tall man slumped in the corner, snoring softly. A cat is tucked under one of his arms, and his hair is being blown by an invisible breeze. Everything is as it should be in the outside world; but today, we aren't needed in the world of the conscious. We're going into the world of the unconscious. More specifically, Greece's dreams, if they can even be called that.

They aren't memories, really—well, maybe a little. They're something Greece clings onto, that he never wants to let go of.

Are you getting confused? Well, I suppose I'll have to show you instead…

Greece opened his eyes blearily as he felt himself coming to. He blinked once, twice, three times before glancing slowly up. Blue skies were reflected in his sleepy brown eyes, and he slowly looked around. Then, the sleepy brown eyes lost their drowsiness and in an instant Greece was on his feet.

He knew this place.

Cautiously he called, "A-Athēnai **[1****]**? Sparta? Korinth? Olympia? Are you here?"

There was no reply.

"Are you guys…gone?" he said, sounding a little lost.

"No, little one, though it is just Sparta and I today."

Greece whipped around, his eyes lighting up with pleasure. "Athēnai! Sparta!"

Athens laughed, her elegant head shaking slightly in humor. "Your enthusiasm is invigorating, child!"

Greece ran towards her with energy he had never once showed in the conscious world and threw his arms around her. He turned his cow brown eyes on her in happiness. "Where's Korinth and Olympia?"

Athens gently placed her hands on his strong shoulders. "They're visiting with your mother today, dear. Oh my, you've grown so much!"

"Would you two cut the sappy stuff? It's not like you don't see him every time he goes to sleep!" The two turned their heads to see a broad, powerful man wearing nothing but a big plumed hat, red cape, brown underwear and a few pieces of armor.

"Uncle Sparta!" Greece chirped happily, abandoning Athens in favor of his uncle.

"Uh…" Sparta blushed and pushed Greece away. However, he still was falling ill with the sickness called IRPDL, or Inability to Resist Puppy Dog Look. "Yeah, that's great, kid…um…get off me and face me like a man!"

Greece grinned excitedly and scrambled back. "Sword fight! Sword fight!"

"I don't have time to face a wimpy little—" Sparta froze when he got the _look _from Athens, obviously warning him not to make her little nephew sad. The ancient city looked between Greece and Athens, back and forth, before sighing. "Fine… I'll do it."

Sparta effortlessly tossed Greece a sword from seemingly nowhere, before finding one himself. The two balanced the swords for a minute, before getting into position. "Let's see if you've been practicing, runt." Sparta smirked at his apprentice.

"Bring it on, Uncle Sparta!"

Sparta lunged forward, and Greece ducked to avoid him—

"Hey, you asshole, wake up!"

Greece glanced up, eyes wide with alarm as a giant face appeared in front of him. He desperately tried to fight the pull of the outside world, but it was too strong. Within moments, the blue skies were gone; in their place were tacky white ceilings. Instead of Athens watching fondly from the sidelines and Uncle Sparta attacking, there were the rest of the countries, and…

That rat-faced bastard who had interrupted his fight.

Without thinking, Greece lunged, pulling back his fist in anger. Seconds later, Turkey was just a bloody pulp on the ground.

Greece then blinked sleepily and settled back on the floor. "That's for interrupting our fight, bastard…" He murmured, eyes flickering as he tried to find the warmth of sleep. In moments, he was out.

The rest of the countries slowly backed away—and continued with their meeting.

**Hey, here's chapter three… anyway, I have figured out why no one likes this story! A) The chapters are way too short and B) Some people can't handle the weirdness I come up with. See, I might not even agree with what I write, it's just a thought that has to come out somehow. So that is why no one reviews/favorites/subscribes besides Phamenia (She's awesome, by the way!) Side note for Phamenia: just because two people are in the same room doesn't mean its romance. This was labeled humor, not romance (the last chapter wasn't FR/UK, though the first chapter was Liet Poland fluff. **

**If you haven't guessed, Sparta and Athens are part of Ancient Greece; while Athens is part of Modern Greece, this Athens is the ancient city of Athens from Ancient Greece, same with Sparta. Anyway, so I was wondering, "Why does Greece like sleeping so much?" and then I thought, "Maybe he's visiting with his dead parents or something!" and then I went like, "…Yeah, that could work…" except Athens and Sparta are more Aunt and Uncle. **

**[1] I'm using the Romanized spelling, or the one the Ancient Greeks called Athens. I actually looked this up, I kid you not. **

**Anyway, thanks! **


	4. INGEHA

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

"We have gathered this emergency meeting today to discuss a troubling and alarming matter! It must be seen that it is taken care of _immediately!_"

The other countries in the room nodded grimly, except for Veneziano, who just looked worriedly between Germany and Romano. Finally Poland spoke up. "Like, what's the problem?"

England closed his eyes for a moment before they snapped open, catching everyone in their fiery, fierce gaze. "A strange and problematic disease is sweeping across the United States. It's affecting their ability to think, changing everything they stand for! It's…not bloody normal!"

Russia raised his hand. "And why should we be concerned? It does not affect us…"

France looked seriously at the enormous country. "It might affect our economies, and might even make American more dangerous! It is essential for our survival to fix this."

Frowning and cocking his head, Cuba asked warily, "And why would it make him more dangerous? If anything, he'd just be weaker!"

England shoved Canada forward and nodded, telling him to speak. The Canadian cleared his throat quietly, before saying, "It-It's true. He's… more serious. His mind is sharper. It's…s-scary, actually…"

The other countries nodded as they focused in on the information, not bothering to ask who the strange country that looked like America was.

"So what do we do? What _can _we do?" Hungary placed a worried hand over her heart. "If he's that dangerous, he might use new mind-power to construct a plan to dominate the world!"

England rubbed his jaw competitively, a serious look adorning his features. "I… I don't know. I guess we'll have to ask America if he needs help. If it's serious and he actually is a threat…" England closed his fist. "There's nothing we can do to save him."

Everyone sat on that for a few minutes. Finally, someone asked the question everyone wanted to know.

"So…" China asked curiously. "What exactly is this disease, aru?"

England faced China, a dead serious look planted on his face. "It has been named: INGEHA, or I'm Not Going to Eat Hamburgers Anymore."

**This started as, what would happen if America stopped eating burgers? And then, how would the other countries react? So anyway, thanks for reading this, my one...loyal...reader...PHAMENIA IS AMAZING! IF YOU DON'T LIKE THIS STORY, AT LEAST GO READ HERS!**

**No loyal review except one... *sniff* Oh well. Just gotta keep writing.**


	5. Repressed

**Disclaimer: I don't own APH!**

England sat in an enormous rocking chair near the fire, staring out the window. It was beautiful tonight; the moon was clear and bright, and the stars gleamed and twinkled merrily, as though saying, _nothing could dampen us tonight! _England smiled softly, a gentle breeze bringing fresh, warm air from the outside. It was indeed a perfect night.

Until a loud, childish scream ruptured the calm.

England jumped up, alarmed, recognizing that as the voice of his young colony. He was worried; had Russia discovered their location and was coming to take the boy? Surely not! He'd only let France know their location, and he, while an annoying perverted frog, was one of the most trustworthy people he knew. Did this mean he'd been betrayed?

England was about to start running towards the colony's room when he was stopped by a little boy tripping the rest of the way down the stairs. The boy stumbled slightly, before catching sight of England. "I-I-Iggy! Dad!" He wailed, running over and throwing his tiny arms around England's waist. "I had a bad dream…" Alfred whimpered, fixing England with a tearful, blue-eyed stare.

England sighed, subconsciously calming his pumping heart. It was only a nightmare.

"It's alright…" England crooned, sitting down to fully hug the boy. "Do you want to tell me what if was about?"

Alfred sniffled, and raised his hands in the usual, "pick me up" motion. England instantly obliged, if only to give more comfort to the terrified boy.

"I was lost in the forest…" He said, nuzzling into England's chest. "But this time, Mattie wasn't there. And you weren't there, but the big man with the scary eyes was. He told me to come with him, but I said no. He threatened me, but I told him I w-wasn't afraid. Then he got Mattie and you and told me that if I didn't come with him he'd k-kill you guys. And I told him I was going with him, but he pretended he didn't hear me and…"Alfred let out a thin wail and buried his head into England's chest.

England's mouth curled slightly. "Sh, don't worry, my boy. That corrupted old king couldn't do a thing to me, and the frog is looking out for Matthew. Shh, shh…" England slowly rocked back and forth, until Alfred's wails diminished into weak whimpers and the tears slowed. England blinked in surprise as he realized that, even with his tiny hands clutched tightly on England's vest, Alfred was asleep.

The country let out a soft sigh, smiling slightly at the peaceful expression now adorning Alfred's face. Despite the tear tracks carving their way down his face, you never would have thought he'd been so distressed moments before. Rubbing the offending water off Alfred's face, England allowed himself a large grin. "Perfect." He murmured, before standing and heading over to the rocking chair near the fire again.

He sat down, gently holding Alfred to him, frowning. The content of the child's dream was disturbing, he admitted. He was sure he'd shielded the budding country from Russia as best as possible; Russia, the greedy king, was always looking for new countries to take over. The only reason he hadn't made England live in the castle with him was because the fiery nation was more powerful than the other countries; it wasn't good to have a powerful country like England on his bad side.

England gave a start when he heard Alfred murmur something. He blinked in surprise as his green eyes came in contact with two drowsy, blue ones. The boy reached out for England's hand, almost in a trance, and repeated, "Promise you…won't…leave…" England just tightened big, weathered hand around America's tiny, soft one. "I promise." Alfred gave a satisfied smile before dropping to sleep again.

**Yeah, so there it ends…cute fluff. NOT! This is not the end, foolish human! Bwahaha!**

England jumped in shock when he heard the doorbell ring. Slowly standing up so as not to jostle Alfred, he whispered, "Now who would be calling at this time of night…?" He hurried upstairs and quickly put Alfred in bed, before rushing down the stairs again. This time whoever it was knocked impatiently, so England called out, "I'm coming, hold your horses!"

Throwing open the door, he growled out, "Who the hell is—"

His mouth dropped open in surprise.

What the hell was _Russia _doing on his doorstep at this time of night?

"Come in, sire." England murmured his customary greeting, bowing slightly and allowing Russia to walk past him in the living room. Then he straightened and regarded Russia's back with one of almost pure hatred, face twisted into a malicious snarl.

Russia was as he usually was; tall, cold, arrogant and radiating power. He had his customary white scarf, and his long tan trench coat nearly touched his giant feet. His hair was almost as white as the snow, and the purple eyes missed nothing as they roamed the room. Finally, he turned and examined England with an innocent, creepy smile. "Hello, my little underling. I suppose you have the plans prepared?"

England bowed low, though he was very confused. "Yes, sire, but I thought that the plans were due next week…?"

Russia gently fingered the rocking chair, hands playing with the smooth wood. "Yes, I suppose so… it is good you are such a hard worker then, da?"

England silently noted the diminishing deadlines and grimaced. Even though Russia couldn't make him live in the castle, he could still make him do whatever he wanted. "Is that all you came for, sire?" He asked, and resisted spitting the word _sire _into Russia's face.

Russia smiled coldly at England, almost sensing the barely suppressed defiance. "Yes, little underling."

England bowed deeper and muttered something before running up the stair to get the plans he had finished for Russia. They'd been strategy plans for taking the last resisting countries; Switzerland and Liechtenstein, France, Spain, Prussia, Germany, Italy, Japan, and China. He'd made sure that Russia would only gain a few countries instead of all of them; that was his way of resisting. Bitterly he gathered the plans into his arms and rushed downstairs. Yes, that was all he did. Mussing a few battle plans.

He bowed again to Russia as he held out the plans, saying, "I hope these are to your standards, sire."

Russia smiled and patted England's lowered head, examining the papers with mild interest. He seemed satisfied, and tucked the papers under his arm. England was very glad to have Russia leaving; now he could relax, because of the young boy upstairs. England smiled softly, imagining the peaceful face…

Just as Russia was about to shut the door, he turned and paralyzed England with his violet stare. "I would be worrying about your little friend upstairs right now, little underling."

England felt his heart skip a beat. Alfred!

He forced himself as fast as he could up the stairs, ignoring Russia's cold laughter following him, and threw open Alfred's door. He managed to catch sight of a young girl holding a big bundle easily in her arms, perched on the windowsill. As she caught sight of England, she smiled widely, before waving and leaping out the window. England rushed to where she'd been moments before, tears streaking down his face and cursing Russia's name.

As his mournful wail reached Russia's ears, the giant country grinned. He didn't react as his sister dropped from the trees behind him and stalked over. "Belarus…Natalya…" He murmured, touching her face almost tenderly. "You have done well tonight, sister…" Belarus beamed, holding up her prize happily so Russia could get a better look. He regarded the sleeping, peaceful face with a blank look, before breaking into a large smile.

**Obviously this is an AU. Basically Russia has taken over most of the world, and every country he owns lives in the castle with him except for England. England pretty much does what he wants, and he finds Alfred and the New World. Knowing that Russia would corrupt the child, he takes Alfred home to protect him. Russia discovers about the child, and uses himself as a distraction so Belarus can capture Alfred. End of story ^^. **

**No, I'm not continuing this story, though if anyone wants to they can. Maybe if I have enough time I'll make a story out of this, but for now… just imagine the ending. **

**This is raw, unbeta-ed work, so… if the grammar and stuff sucks, you know why. **

**IceEckos12 **


	6. At the Art Museum

**Disclamier: No, I don't own APH. **

Russia stood and stared, just as he had for the past ten minutes or so.

He had actually been running away from Belarus, and had managed to lose her in the many hallways and stairs. However, he had also managed to lose himself. He had then wandered deep in the bowels of the art museum, looking for a way out, when he spotted it.

It was a simple painting, probably put up for its delicate beauty rather than details. The sky was a deep, lazy blue, and the ground was covered in a soft, thin layer of snow. What had made him stare, though, were the field of sunflowers painted meticulously on its soft paper.

It was like a dream come true. Snow and sunflowers, coexisting happily together without the flowers wilting or the snow melting. Simply beautiful.

Now Russia couldn't just _leave _it there, could he?

Knowing that he'd only have a few minutes, Russia quickly stepped closer, setting off a warning alarm and put his fingers on the edges.

Now _that _got the pesky alarm excited.

Practically ripping the painting from the wall, Russia slung it under his arm and took off down the hall, searching for the nearest window (the artist rolled over in his grave; no one should treat his painting so carelessly!). When he found it, he clasped the painting to his chest and shielded it with his body as he jumped out the window and landed gracefully on the ground.

He began humming a merry little tune as he ran down the pavement, the museum's security hot on his heels, and thought, _America was right! I _did _enjoy the art museum!_

Italy dragged Germany down the hall, babbling about some of the art pieces in the museum. He seemed recovered from the earlier scare in the Sears tower (Or had they renamed it…?), with the glass box. America had taken them out there, and then it was discovered Italy was terrified of heights. Surprisingly, America had apologized and told Italy about a super-secret-awesome Italian restaurant that no one knew about to make him feel better. It had worked; the promise of food had certainly boosted Italy's mood.

Germany grunted with satisfaction at a strict painting, liking the fact that it was a bit predictable; everything was so much better when it was straight and narrow. Then his eyes fell on a row of long, sharp lances and spears. He smirked at them; they were quite impressive. His blue eyes even recognized one of them as his own a long time ago.

Then he nearly choked on his breath when he saw where four or five of the others had been made, all sharp and dangerous looking.

"I-Italy?" Germany asked hesitantly, beckoning his cheerful friend over. Said nation skipped over happily. "Yes, Germany?"

Germany nodded towards the weapons. "Are those…?"

Italy looked over. "Oh! I remember those!" He seemed unaffected by the fact he'd made really sharp scary weapons.

"Did you…um…u-use them? To…hurt people?" It was hard to imagine his little Italy wielding big spears and lances, it couldn't be true!

Italy actually laughed, and suddenly normally happy self grew a darker tone. "Germany, what else did you expect to use them for…?"

"Englaaaaand!" America whined, hiding his face behind Canada's back. "Why do all your paintings gotta have naked people in theeem?"

England snorted, though his face also sported a light pink blush. "It's—all European countries, not just me, you git! Half of this is France's work, I'll bet!"

England had insisted they go to the modern European paintings, to see "some real, decent artwork!" The European nation had all but insulted some of America's best work, calling them "simple" and "crudely done". Of course, anything that wasn't from the U.S. was simply stunning and beautiful. So America had agreed (grudgingly, of course) and had led them all to the modern European works. Needless to say, half the pictures in there had people flashing them all, not seeming to care they were showing naughty things to the world.

"Oh _non, Angenterre,_ much of this is yours." France crowed, a rose poised delicately in his hand.

England just blushed a brighter color, and frowned, turning away. However his eyes accidently caught on a rather showing picture and they immediately fell to the ground, cheeks turning a darker red.

"Sh-Shut up frog!" He said; insult losing most of its sting with the trembling in his voice.

Matthew looked unaffected, seemingly unconscious of all the flashy work around him (this probably was a byproduct of being raised by France) and said, "It's not so bad, once you get used to it."

"M-Mattie, how could you actually like this stuff? They're all…" Alfred whimpered, clinging to the back of his jacket. "Naked!"

England blushed and choked, France laughed and pulled a rose out of nowhere, and Matthew just sighed.

**Listen, it's been a bit, and I have to say... I do have an excuse, however pitiful. I just kind of... lost the writing funk, you know? Even when someone reviewed who wasn't Phamenia (Phamenia's awesome, but she's one of my best friends. She's _supposed _to be ultra nice and stuff.) I checked it said that no one had read it. I just kind of... lost it for a few days. It was selfish of me, I know, but now I'm back. **

**Enough about me! There was something I forgot to mention in the last chapter; I don't like making Russia the bad guy. I love him and I think he's amazing and he shouldn't be made the bad guy all the time just because he's creepy, but he was the only one who fit the role without some major OOCness. So now that that's said and done...**

**Yes! After a World Meeting in the humble city of Chicago, America takes them to the Sears Tower and then on to the Art Museum (and about that thing with Germany: I know they renamed the Sears Tower, but I can't for the life of me remember what it's new name was and I'm too lazy to look it up.). Russia stole a painting; Germany learned a dark secret about Italy and America got his innocence torn to shreds. I recently went to the Art Museum myself, and I know for a fact those old lances and spears and stuff actually came from Italy; I saw it with my own two damn eyes. I cracked up so bad. And when we went into the Modern European wing-well... that was a little awkward. The only painting I'm not sure exists is the painting Russia stole. Thanks!**

**IceEckos12**


	7. Where Babies come from

**I don't own APH… or this story. *Pfft***

"England, where do babies come from?"

England nearly choked and blushed, fingering his collar nervously. He'd never thought the question would come up, so he wasn't prepared; America just seemed so… naïve, England had actually started to believe that the question would never come up. Of course, right now, America sitting expectantly on his bed, waiting for England, he knew he had no choice.

"Um…well, America, um…" England started off smartly, still blushing. "There's… the birds and the bees." _The birds and the bees? How original. _England snorted mentally but continued. "B-But wait, but before that though, there's uh, w-where they actually come from..." England was simply babbling now; he had no clue where this was going. He raised his finger. "Is… there's a cabbage that's under a gooseberry bush. It's very hard to find. And the bees, they sting… they sting the birds… and the birds don't always like it, but it sometimes happens, though I hear the bees enjoy it…" England averted his eyes, still babbling. "Um…" He continued. "And, um… the bird flies all the way looking for this ca—" England paused. "For this gooseberry bush which the cabbage is under. And it's very difficult to find."

And so, England made up a complete BS story about where babies come from.

"…And leaves the baby on the doorstep!" America finished, grinning happily at Canada. They had both agreed to ask their mentors where babies came from, and America was proud to have gotten it from England first. However, instead of nodding to confirm the story, Canada's face filled with horror. "That's not what France told me!"

"…So you see, Canada, when a man loves a woman… it's very simple." France held up a donut. "This is the $%#&." France held up a wurst. "This is a %#$." France's face had the pervert look. "And you…start playing—you tickle her a little bit…and then start ramming with total speed… with the speed of light if you can achieve it…and then… just give her all you've got like a train! It needs to be like—like a train arriving at the station over and over again…"

**I don't this story whatsoever; I got it off youtube, which was an adaptation of a webcomic. So technically, I don't own this at all, except the stuff in between. **

**Now I know this is really perverted an all, but I couldn't help it. I cracked up so bad when I read saw this. Go to this link: http:/ .com/ watch?v=PWMs2x9Dmtw without the spaces. This might be a little graphic (courtesy of Francis) however I think it's safer than some of the fics I've seen. **


	8. Falling

**Disclaimer: My little sister here (I'm one of her betas; this is her story and her account) doesn't own Hetalia. Please don't sue us!**

Italy remembered all the sets of hands in his life.

He knew there was someone else before the first pair of hands; the memory pulled and tugged in the back of his head, almost to the point of annoyance. However, whenever he tried to remember those hands, he felt the memory fade, fade, fade… and it was gone again, slipping through his fingers like water. So, he left those hands alone, always wondering but never knowing.

The first pair of hands he actually remembered catching him were strong and weathered from grasping the leather wrapped hilt of their sword. The hands felt safe and warm, and he felt he could never be hurt in these hands.

After he had been caught by the hands, they would sweep him up and pull him close, the voice saying, "Don't fall, my little Ita-chan! You could get hurt, and Grandpa Rome would be soooo sad if that happened!" So, he learned to promise that he wouldn't fall again to those hands.

_-Grandpa Rome…-_

The second pair of hands were actually three pairs of hands. One pair of hands was strong, but tapered to a delicate point. Italy wasn't quite sure he liked those hands; they often wandered to places they shouldn't. After he fell, the hands would pull him close and whisper sweet nothings into his ears, until the other voices told the hands to leave Italy alone. However, he grew to like the person behind those hands very much.

_-Big Brother France …-_

Another pair of hands were chubby and quick, not unlike Italy's own, with spitfire ingrained in the palms. These hands were rough and forceful, and whenever Italy fell around these hands they shoved him back up. As much as he liked being kept from falling, he sometimes wondered if it was worth being pushed around.

The voice that accompanied these hands was loud and insulting. "God dammit, don't fall again, you idiot! You could seriously hurt yourself!" However, the voice and hands still worried about him, and Italy was happy about that.

_-Big Brother Romano …-_

The last pair of hands was kind and gentle, and Italy's favorite of the trio. They carefully grabbed Italy and helped him back up. Then, they would pull him close and give him a treat. These hands would pat his hair, and the voice that came with the hands was lulling and sweet. It crooned, "Oh Italy! You're so cute!" He learned to thank these hands.

_-Big Brother Spain …-_

The next pairs of hands were three in number as well; however the time he spent with these pairs of hands was questionable. He couldn't decide if these were the best hands of his life or the worst.

The first pair of hands were cold but not unkind. These hands were not meant for catching Italy and his clumsy self; they were meant for making beautiful music, gliding across the keys of a piano like spiders. However when they did catch him, Italy could feel the strength and delicacy of those fingers. They pulled him back up and did nothing else. The voice belonging to them would say gruffly, "Be more careful, Italy." Italy would just nod and continue on his way.

_-Austria…-_

The second pair of hands were the hands that almost always caught him of the set; they grasped him and swept him up close to her chest. These hands were powerful and the nails tapered to points, but they were always very gentle with Italy. The hands stroked his hair happily, and she crooned lullabies to him in her beautiful voice. (However, these hands could more often be found beating off perverts with frying pans…).

_-Big Sister Hungary …-_

The last pair of hands in the trio were strong and powerful; it seemed as if even they didn't know their own strength. Italy was a little afraid of these hands and the face that accompanied them. The face would stare at Italy intensely, and Italy would feel shivers run up and down his back. The face would blush, though, and Italy found himself liking the face when it blushed; it was a more human and kind reaction. After Italy got caught by these hands, he would be pulled into a close hug, and then the hands would run away. Italy was always confused; what had he done wrong…? (Eventually he learned that these hands were better holding his as they kissed…)

_-Holy Roma…-_

Most of these pairs of hands stayed with him for a long time. The last pair, however, were gone forever, and Italy cried a lot over them. Eventually, he outwardly got over it. No sense of worrying about the past, he supposed; however in his heart, Italy waited for those hands forever.

_-Big Brother Romano, Austria, Big Brother Hungary… H-Holy R-Roma…-_

_-H-Holy R-Roma… my first mistake… was that I-I lost you…-_

The next two pairs of hands that caught him when he fell were the second most recent; they were quite on accident, actually. It hadn't gone quite the way he'd planned, him ending up in a tomato box and getting discovered by a scary face…

The next pair of hands were powerful and strong, the hands closest in form to the first pair he remembered. They were weathered by days of training, crawling through mud, and grappling with enemies. They were always kind around Italy, though firm, and not always gentle.

The hands quickly let go of Italy after he was caught (Italy was always a little disappointed) and the voice said in a gruff, embarrassed tone, "I-Italy, you've got to be more careful! I won't always be around to catch you!" So, Italy learned to watch where he was going and fall around those hands. That way, they could catch him as much as possible before they left.

_-Germany …-_

The next pair of hands were strong and delicate, thin and pale. They never held contact for long, and were extremely polite—they only touched him enough to help him to his feet, never more. Everything the hands did was thoughtful and serious, never wasting a movement. They settled gently and never were excited or emotional.

The voice that accompanied these hands was gentle and understanding, never scolding. "Ah, Italy-san. You must be more careful." So, Italy was very careful around these hands, for he could feel the discomfort radiating off of them whenever that person caught him. These hands didn't like close contact.

_-Japan-san…-_

The last pairs of hands were actually many; they were many hands, so many that Italy could not even count them all.

There were hands that were bouncy and over dramatic; they caught him and quickly set him back on his feet, sometimes hurting him on accident in the process. They were strong, yet young and almost immature. New.

There were hands that were extremely cold. They were hungering for an affection that no one seemed to want to give. They swept Italy up and gently set Italy back down.

There were hands that were delicate and pale, more suited for reading books than picking up Italy. Yet, Italy could tell that there was something more to these hands…there were whispers of calluses from days gone by, and a certain strength to his arms that one might not expect.

There were hands that were well manicured, hands that were so hesitant and trembling it frightened Italy himself, hands that were tired and sleepy, hands with dark skin and strong muscles; so many hands to help Italy up! And yet… when these hands came together for one purpose…

_-France, Romano, Spain, Austria, Hungary, Germany, Japan-san, America, Russia, England, China, Poland, Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania, Greece, Cuba, Denmark, Iceland, Finland, Sweden, Canada, Sealand, Norway, Taiwan, Vietnam, Hong Kong, Korea, Prussia, Ukraine, Belarus, everyone…-_

_-H-Holy Roma… they're all working together… for war…I'm scared… My first mistake was losing you!-_

All these hands came together for one purpose: to fight a war and win. They banded together, forging an alliance to save themselves and each other. They fell; slowly, one by one, but they all fell. The two strongest countries fell last; the cold hands and the over-dramatic hands. The cold hands were stone; they lost whatever feeling they had had when their sister hands left. The over-dramatic hands lost their bubbliness, bounce, and innocence after the hands that were suited to reading books left. They became ruthless, and felt no pity. Both of these sets of hands fought with their lives to protect the one person left: Italy.

And now Italy was falling… falling… and no one was there to catch him.

_I failed… again. _

He could feel the hands slipping past him, reaching towards him but never touching. Italy sighed as he realized he would have to do this all over again… and hopefully save everyone in the process. Maybe he'd be nice to those cold hands, so they would be warmer and kinder. Maybe he'd get the over-dramatic hands to finally pull close the one they wanted to keep forever. Maybe… there were so many things he could change.

_But I still failed… again. _

As Italy felt himself being swept up by the first pair of hands he remembered, he sighed. Maybe this time… he'd finally save Holy Roma.

After all, he would continue this loop until everyone was okay, right?

**Hey… yes, it's me, guilty as charged. **

**I know I haven't updated in a while, but I was working on Drunken Abandon. Now, though, I'm just waiting for Resoan to finish beta-ing the new chapter before I post it, so I'm posting on this story instead!**

**This is just a little bit based off of HetaOni—the whole time loop thing (WATCH HETAONI IT'S THE BEST YOUTUBE SHOW IN THE WHOLE WOOOORLD!). It just popped into my head one day; what if Italy were a time traveler? I know it's absurd, but I thought it was an interesting idea… and came up with this. **

**It might be a little confusing, but I hope you understand…**

**IceEckos12**


	9. Al Qaeda

**Disclaimer: *Ahem* HETALIA IS ALL MINE! MINE, MINE, MINE! I OWN IT! NONE OF YOU CAN DENY ME THAT RIGHT! Feh. As if. No, I don't' own APH, no matter how much I'd like to. Though Al Qaeda is mine. WOO! GO USA! DOWN WITH OSAMA!**

"Are you sure, Pakistan? Absolutely positive?"

Pakistan shivered, licking his lips. His fingers were shaking so much that his nails were clicking on the walkie-talkie. "Y-Yes, America, I would not dare lie to you."

There was a moment of static, and then the voice, layered with power and intimidation, came onto the other end of the line. "You better not be lying, Pakistan, because if you are, you'll know exactly why the United States of America is one of the most feared countries in the world."

Pakistan stared at the machine. He licked his lips again, before throwing it as hard as he could at the other wall.

* * *

><p>America grinned darkly, striding down the hall and tossing the walkie-talkie to the poor soul who had decided to be behind him. The person yelped, fingers dancing to keep the machine from hitting the ground, and ran away quickly—to avoid the wrath of the dark American still striding away from him.<p>

America ignored him, finally stopping at a door in the corridor and typing in the password, along with showing his eyes up to the screen to prove his identity.

As America strode into the room filled with surprised military leaders and a few high ranking soldiers, he leaned against one wall and grinned darkly. "Gentlemen, Osama Bin Laden has been found."

Osama Bin Laden better watch his ass.

* * *

><p>It all started years ago.<p>

It was a normal World Conference—England and France were fighting again, America was watching with that stupid grin on his face eating hamburgers, Russia was sitting in a corner trying to escape Belarus's view, China was musing about the younger nations, and…

"Hey! Hey, America! Yeah, I'm talking to you, you arrogant asshole!"

America jerked his gaze up, lips still attached to his soft drink.

"Hey, hey! It's me! Al Qaeda! I'm here to declare war on you, bastard! Yeah, you want a piece of this? Huh?"

All the nations in the room swung their heads in silent shock to the door, watching a short, darkly tanned boy pointing on slender finger at America's stunned face. His posture screamed cockiness and arrogance, and he had a faux beard on his face.

Everyone paused, staring in quiet shock at the cocky little boy who had just declared war on America. They waited for someone to move, someone to react, and then… laughter.

America was _laughing _at the boy, though it wasn't his normal laughter. It was dark and foreboding, tinged with the lives of the dead. Tinged with the agony and pain of _war. _

"War? Heh, with me? Now why do you want to do that, terrorist crap?"

Al Qaeda suddenly looked very unsure, his finger lowering slightly. He'd expected an arrogant, carefree idiot who ate too much and had no brain. Someone who couldn't do anything himself, and used his power to make the people under him submit. He thought that his cause was right; that America needed to be punished.

"Um… because Papa told me to!"

America took a long slurp on his soda and swallowed, his cold blue eyes glaring down at the boy—who was going in way over his head.

"Listen, _kid. _You think you can take me? Fine, go for it. Burn me to the ground, beat me to submission, do whatever you think will work—but just remember when you attack, remember when you decide to kill one of my men, remember when you go to sleep at night and the shadows that dance around you play a slideshow of the dead—remember just _what _you are trying to do." America got up and slowly advanced on the shaking child; he would not be merciful, not to this one. "You are trying to beat down a mountain, trying to stop an avalanche, trying to quell the forces of nature. You are trying to put out a fire that has never stopped burning." America leaned into Al Qaeda's face, enjoying the fear radiating off the boy. "You are trying to pour water on the flames of Liberty, and the flames of Justice. Iam America! I defy the impossible! And you—you don't even have a land to call your own. You are a rat-tag team of mad terrorists who think they can kill my people and get away with it. _I_…" America whispered menacingly. "I am the one who defied all odds, who defeated those who thought they could stand against me. And _you," _America grinned nastily. "Are just another one of my enemies now."

With that, America left the quivering mass on the floor and started for the door.

"W-Where are you g-going, Al… America?" England gasped, trying to shake off the petrifying fear he'd felt when America had spoken.

"I am going…" America grinned. "To prepare for a _war!" _

* * *

><p>"A-America, this is stupid! Let your perfectly capable soldiers take care of this!"<p>

America frowned deeply into the phone, obviously displeased with England's reaction to what he was planning to do that day. Maybe responding with a casual, "Oh, we're going to go kill Osama Bin Laden today!" wasn't such a good idea.

"Ah, come on, Iggy! It's all right, I wanted to get rid of the bas—oh crap, there goes one of the helicopters…"

"America!"

"No, see? It missed us and everyone's getting out alright, so it's all okay!"

"America, this doesn't change the fact that it's very dangerous! You could be killed!"

"Iggy, I'm tired. I've been after this bastard for ten years!"

"Alfred, even if you take out the head-that doesn't mean it'll all go away!"

"England…" The man on the other end of the phone paused, momentarily stunned by the tone of America's voice. "England, this is my closure. I need this. He attacked me, England, and I can still hear the victims' screams as some of them jumped out of the burning buildings. I…I can't simply let that go. Someone…needs…to…pay…" There was almost a wobble in that last sentence.

England was silent, so silent that America almost believed he'd hung up. "A-All right… America. If you need to do this… I guess I can't stop you. But _be careful!"_

America grinned into the phone, suddenly elated (and slightly confused) by England's change of heart. "Don't you worry about a thing, England! We'll be in and out!"

As England hung up the phone, he could not disguise his fear at the sound of America's voice. _I do hope this turns out okay._

* * *

><p>Al Qaeda gasped loudly, startling the other men in the room. They turned to the personified terrorist group, trying to ask what was wrong as the boy stared at the ground in mute horror.<p>

He felt it.

He _felt _it.

Osama Bin Laden… was dead.

Al Qaeda could see his last moments, too.

Two ice cold blue eyes, staring at him—both of them—from the darkness, light shining dully from the grinning face. And the last word: "Remember."

**This is kind of a tribute to America, I guess. Not quite sure, though. Just popped into my head. **

**Anyway, you might be wondering why America even takes Al Qaeda seriously (So my sister pointed out as she edited America's epic speech). It's because he actually believes him to be a threat. Al Qaeda's already caused loads of problems before he declared war on America, and America takes him seriously, because… he sees himself in Al Qaeda. He sees a little "colony" rebelling against the home country, who isn't supposed to win. America knows that he wasn't supposed to win, but look what happened. America is now one of the most powerful countries in the world (however messed up we are). **

**So… enjoy! **

**IceEckos12**


	10. Letters from a Brother 12

**Disclaimer: Really? I thought we went over this already. I don't own APH!**

_Dear Matt:_

_Hey, it's me! Like I said, I'm writing a little every day so you know what I'm doing. I'll send all the letters when I see another American ship. They'll know to get them to you!_

_So it's the day after I got on this crappy ship, and let me tell you, the situation is looking grim. I'm stuck in a boat full of crack-heads and idiots!_

_No, I'm not kidding you. By the way? Only one of the sailor's on this goddamn ship is British—the captain. You know the one with the fuzzy eyebrows? All the rest of them are "hand-picked" and are of the "finest quality". Feh. Doesn't stop him from arguing with the rest of the crew like mad. I miss everyone on the old ship; we all got along! These idiots… if I didn't know any better, I'd say they were pirates! But that's impossible, right? I couldn't have been captured by pirates, right? C'mon Mattie, just the day you decide to_

Matthew frowned, looking a little worried at the big splotch of ink and the abrupt cut-off. It was the thing he'd heard from Alfred in almost two weeks, and the letter was quite long. What could've caused him to stop so suddenly?

His question was answered in the next line.

_Oops, sorry about that. The first mate—this creepy Russian guy called Ivan stopped in to check on me. Oh, I probably should mention the rest of the crew. _

_There are the chef's; this one perverted French guy who the Captain just _loves _to argue with and these two strange Italian boys. The French guy is called Francis and Captain had to tell him off when he… well, let's just say… never mind. Forget I mentioned it. _

Matthew snickered. He knew exactly what Alfred was talking about; Matthew knew the boy so well he could tell what he was thinking even in a letter!

_The Italian guys are really strange, and they act nothing alike. One of them, Feliciano, is really out there and bubbly and happy and kind of a coward, but he's alright. The other one is the complete opposite of his brother. His name's Lovino. Lovino swears a lot, and the other people in the kitchen tend to avoid him, though there's this one guy on deck who worships him, named Antonio. Antonio's pretty neat, but he has this weird obsession with tomatoes. He and Lovino share that. _

_Then there's the nurse and her brother, from Switzerland. The guy is so overprotective of his sister, who's really sweet and looks a lot like a boy. He threatened me so many times in so many different ways; he must be a genius. Well, actually he is. A genius of shooting! This guy is even better than me at firing those old muskets off, and can shoot and hit the bulls-eye of just about anything. I'm kind of hero worshipping him right now. _

Matthew's eyes widened in awe. Alfred's shot was the best he'd ever seen in his life! This guy must be pretty good to have beat Alfred.

_The first mate is the really creepy, tall Russian guy who clocked me over the head with the pipe that one time. He's been given the job of watching me and making sure I don't kill myself, in the words of the captain. His name's Ivan, and I don't really know much about him besides the fact that he enjoys stalking people and is really quiet. I'm also pretty sure Ivan doesn't like me much, but that's his problem, not mine. _

_There's this really awesome Prussian man on board called Gilbert, and he always carries around this cute little bird called Gilbird. Me and him are one of a kind; cause as much havoc and drink as much beer as possible afterword. Gilbert's got a slightly less awesome German brother called Ludwig, who's really uptight and acts like he has a pole up his ass all the time. Feliciano seems pretty attached to him and this Japanese guy called Kiku, who I think is pretty cool. He's like a ninja assassin or something! Pretty neat, right?_

Matthew laughed softly, brushing back some hair. He examined the rest of the letter quizzically. Did Alfred really keep his promise to write every day until they could reach someone to carry the letters?

The promise was that Alfred would write down something from each day in the form of a letter, and the next time he could secure someone to carry the letters for him he'd send all of them, and then the process would start over again. Matthew honestly hadn't expected him to keep his promise, so he was really surprised to see a thick packet of letters shoved in his mailbox.

Matthew shrugged, figuring he'd figure it out eventually and continued reading.

_The musician is another Ludwig, though more pompous and has a bigger stick shoved farther up his ass. Apparently he was a pampered kid, and decided to join the Navy to "branch out." He hates Gilbert, so I guess he won't like me much either. His wife, Elizaveta, is really pretty, though she hates Gilbert a lot too. I guess Gilbert was always picking on Roderiech and Elizaveta wouldn't stand for it. Did you know that frying pans make pretty good weapons? I didn't know either until Eli whipped one out on Gilbert and beat him up with it. _

_One of the people who helps the Cap'n make decisions is this guy called Wang Yao. He's a Chinese guy who looks really young but is as least 30 years old. The guy is always shaking his head and muttering about young kids' energy and stuff. He's pretty close to Kiku, and he seems like the only one not afraid of Ivan. _

_I don't think I'm missing anyone else, though I can't be sure. Besides, Ivan was pretty vague when he talked about the rest of the crew, and I had to get most of the info by asking the others and studying like crazy. _

_Ah, wait. Only one more person I'm missing: The great Captain himself. _

_The guy is tough as nails stern to the core. No nonsense, and he commands complete respect from his crew. Well, I mean the fact that he won't _not _take respect. He's kind of a bully, and makes Ivan intimidate anyone who won't respect him. However, if Ivan doesn't take care of the non-respecting "idiot", the Captain—Arthur certainly will. Even though he's a prick, Arthur's pretty scary. _

_So that's the basic crew. I haven't met everyone yet, because it's a big ship. Though there's a few problems in this situation: I have to do the dirtiest, crummiest jobs that not even the cabin boys dare to do (I only know of two so far; this little shrimp called Peter and a little girl from some weird island nation. Say—Seyshell—Seychele… Um… Whatever). _

Matthew stopped reading there, quickly flipping off his bed and striding to the bookshelf. His fingers danced lightly over the scrolls and pamphlets before he pulled out a World Map and a long list of countries. He skimmed the list, looking for a country with a name similar to the one Alfred had tried to spell out. Eventually he found it; a small island in the Indian Ocean. Satisfied, Matthew replaced the papers and flopped back onto the bed.

_So I do whatever they want, and I can't do a shit about it. Basically I'm the lowest of low on this ship; they didn't even ask me if I had any skills! Not that they would care. I still wonder why they took me; I mean, you're obviously more talented than me (though no offense Matt, you're physically lacking), so it's a little strange. _

Matthew frowned, though accepted the words none the less. He also frowned at the mention of his skills; yes, he was a pretty good navigator, much better than Alfred, though no one could read the wind and waves like his brother. Alfred's skill was almost phenomenal; however, he never seemed to be able to use his talent for anything good. Still, he was a decent navigator.

_The second thing that really bothers me is that I'm not allowed in the crow's nest! _

At that, Matthew sighed and rubbed his head. Obviously Alfred was very displeased with that; the closer to the sky he felt, the closer to home he felt. Of course Alfred wouldn't have the brain to stay away from the crow's nest, even if he was told by someone else specifically.

_So I'm going to start sneaking in at night. _

Matthew face-palmed.

_Anyway, that's the most I can think of right now. Got to get to sleep. _

_With love, _

_Alfred. _

_P.S. __It __hasn't happened yet, so no need to worry. If __it __happens, I'll write you. Okay? Love ya!_

Matthew frowned on that dark thought, running his fingers on the words. It was so _like _Alfred to ruin the mood with reminders of _that. _

Alfred had had a nasty childhood, and some unspeakable horror had happened that he wouldn't even talk to Matthew about it. However every once in a while the memories would overwhelm him, and he'd faint and have to stay in bed while he thrashed and cried out against some unspeakable horror.

Matthew wasn't sure if that was considered a medical disability or anything, but he and Alfred weren't willing to risk the chance that he'd get booted out of the Navy. Matthew quietly remembered the first time he'd seen _it…_

It had been a while after the two first met, which was when Alfred was 17 and Matthew was 15. When they had first met, they'd _hated _each other. Alfred saw Matthew as a spoiled little nerdy coward who'd spent most of his life pampered and couldn't understand the outdoors to save his life (some of it was true, Matthew grudgingly admitted). Matthew saw Alfred as a moody, selfish, self-pitying teen who was throwing a tantrum for no reason whatsoever (some of that was true, too).

Now they both that while the accusations were semi-true, the good parts of them outweighed the bad. Matthew was physically fragile, and would've gone outside if his mother hadn't insisted on keeping him as close to her as possible. Matthew had never had much freedom at all. Alfred's mom, or Matthew's mom, had left him at an early age for another man, and had had Matthew. Alfred had a perfectly good reason to not like Matthew, however untrue it was. For him it seemed that Matthew himself had stolen his mother away. Both of them technically had a reason to act as they did.

It all changed one day.

After Alfred had sent Matthew running outside crying (again), he'd gone to his sanctuary on the bank near the river. However, with his eyes blinded by tears and head reeling from the harmful jibes Alfred had thrown at him, Matthew hadn't noticed the river overflowing until he'd succumbed to the currents. If not for Alfred, who'd had a sudden moment of remorse and had gone looking for Matthew, Matthew would've drowned.

After this, the two had become noticeably closer. Alfred started defending Matthew from the bullies in town who made fun of him for his stutter; Matthew started to teach Alfred how to read.

The day Matthew learned of Alfred's secret was like any other day; Alfred had been working in the garden, which he'd never done before. Alfred had asked Matthew to get a certain tool for him, and just as Matthew had turned his head he'd heard the most unnatural noise. It sounded like a cross between a choke and a whimper. Matthew, alarmed, turned to see Alfred's eyes rolling back into his head, and his legs crumple beneath him. He'd thrashed and made strange noises the rest of the day, though in the morning he'd been fine. After Matthew had demanded answers, Alfred had finally broken and told him everything, except the specific memories.

"_I got it! You keep my secret, and I'll protect you forever! Like a… body guard or something!"_

So when Alfred had wanted to join the Navy, Matthew, of course, joined with him. After all, what else could he do? Alfred wouldn't have minded if Matthew hadn't joined, but Matthew just couldn't forget the promise they'd made years ago. What would Alfred do if Matthew wasn't there to cover for him? What would Matthew do if Alfred wasn't there to protect him? They needed each other.

And now Alfred was on a British ship, worlds away.

**Ah… hey! It's me again! This is an un-beta-ed chapter. Um… this is supposed to be a two-part, and the second part will come shortly after. **

**I got this idea after reading about how the British ships used to capture American soldiers in the late 1700's to the early 1800s, claiming they were "deserters" and make them work on British ships. Other than that, there's not much to say. **

**IceEckos12**


	11. Captured 22

**Disclaimer: I'm too lazy to do this. Go click back to the last chapter.**

Alfred stared up at the bright blue sky, feeling the wind in his hair and the sun warming his face. Salt flavored the air slightly, mixed with old, warm wood and just plain wetness. He couldn't hear anything, except the waves in the ocean, and the occasional shout from the deck. Yes, today was a perfect day. Not a cloud in the sky.

And the crow's nest was the _perfect _place to be on a _perfect _day.

Alfred buried his chin into his arms, still staring up at the sky, getting lost in its depths. He started zoning, not really focused on anything. Perhaps that was how he missed the giant British Navy vessel parked next to their ship.

Something pulled him back from his zoning, the sound of loud voices on deck. He shook his head, clearing out the dust bunnies before peering over the side to see what was going on. Alfred had to rub his eyes to make sure he was seeing correctly.

Right next to him was a giant British vessel! And my God, it was beautiful!

Then he swiveled his head back to see what they were yelling about, and his heart froze.

Alfred watched as a giant man in a trench coat (who in their right mind would wear a coat in this weather?) was speaking angrily to his captain, a tall, good man who always looked out for his crew. The two seemed to be arguing about something, though Alfred couldn't tell what. Then he noticed what the tall man was gesturing too. His… His _brother. _

Suddenly Alfred knew _exactly _what this was about. He'd heard the stories, about how British sailors would come onto American ships and actually take some of the sailor's, claiming they were 'deserters' and forced them to work on their ships. And now they wanted _Matthew, _his sweet little baby brother. No way was _anyone _going to take Matthew, not without fight!

Alfred leapt up from where he sat, and grabbed the rope hanging from the crow's nest to the bottom of the ship. Of course, the Captain had specifically asked (yelled loudly)him not to do this, but it was necessary for a cool entrance. Alfred pulled on a glove he used just for occasions like these and swung onto the rope and down into the middle of the argument.

Everyone gasped at Alfred, some in shock and surprise, others in annoyance. _Oh, _they thought, _Alfred just loves making entrances like these. _

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Alfred?" The captain hissed at the teen, grabbing for his shirt.

"You stay away from my brother!" Alfred shouted loudly, putting his hands on his hips. Everyone gasped quite loudly. Had Alfred actually been paying attention? Had he actually known what was going on?

The tall man who had been trying to take Matthew away smiled menacingly. "Your brother is a deserter, and we are simply… picking him back up."

Alfred scowled. "My brother is loyal to a fault! He'd never betray his country!"

"Um…Alfred, it's okay, really—"

"No, it's not!" Alfred rounded on his brother, who flinched at Alfred's fiery gaze. "I swore to protect you, Mattie! This idiot is going to take you away, and that's not going to happen!"

"You seem very confident in yourself."

Alfred whipped back towards the voice, eyebrows into a deep V on his forehead. He opened his mouth to make a retort, but shut his mouth quickly. After a moment, he let out a very loud laugh and said in a shout, "Wow, your eyebrows are huge!"

The man flushed and backed away. "Th-The nerve! I'll have you know I'm the captain of this Navy vessel!"

"Yeah, yeah, old man! You still ain't getting my brother!"

"O-Old man? Why you—Ivan!"

The tall man who had been talking to the captain scowled and stepped forward, drawing out a pipe. _A pipe…? _Alfred wondered quietly. _Where did he get that?_

With a loud _klong!, _Alfred heard the pipe hit him before he felt it. Stars danced in front of his eyelids, and he felt himself going down amidst all the shouting. Just as he felt the blackness about to take him, he remembered something: _Alfred, you fool, if you faint now they'll take Matthew! Wake up! Stay awake, you idiot! _Alfred fought against the call of sleep, and clawed to the surface. He would not…lose!

Alfred gasped when he felt himself come back, and shakily stood up. There was a hushed silence, and no one dared to speak; everyone was looking at him with a shocked faces. Alfred shook his head, trying to focus, and managed to growl out: "You…won't…touch…my…brother."

The British captain stared at Alfred, looking slightly slack-jawed. He had complete faith in Ivan, that Ivan hadn't gone easy on Alfred just because he was a boy. So what happened? Did the boy just have a very hard head? Or had the will to protect his brother overcome the need to pass out? Perhaps it was just a fluke?

Matthew leapt forward, supporting Alfred in his arms. Alfred was so stupid! He should never have stood up for Matthew, and now… now he had nearly gotten himself killed! What a stupid, stupid, brave brother he had! "Please…" Matthew begged. "Don't hurt him anymore, I'll go with you!"

"Shut _up, _Mattie! You're not touching him!" Alfred leaned against Matthew heavily, obviously not able to take another hit.

The captain blinked at Alfred quietly, a curious expression on his face. Then he smirked. "I have a deal to discuss with the captain. Maybe… you can keep your gifted navigator."

Everyone on the ship breathed a sigh of relief; Matthew was a favorite amongst the crew, even more so than his brother. Matthew was sweet and kind, and was always very diplomatic due to growing up in a family that was often involved deep in politics. He was the youngest, too, so people on the ship felt a natural protectiveness for him. Alfred often relied on Matthew to get things across to the crew for him, because Alfred had a tendency to ask questions as rudely as possible and then expect to get the appropriate response.

So the line of people's thought on the ship was this: _If Matthew leaves, we'll be stuck with that! _

"Don't worry, Mattie, the Cap'n will take care of ever'thing!" Alfred ground out, still wobbling slightly after the attack of the pipe.

"Alfred, you idiot! You shouldn't have defended me, then you wouldn't have gotten hurt! You didn't think things through again, did you." Matthew answered accusingly, still gently supporting his unsteady older brother.

Alfred looked deep into Matthew's eyes, trying to get him to understand. "If I hadn't intervened, you would've gotten taken. I don't know what I would've done with myself. Matthew, the conditions on that ship—for you especially—would've been horrible. You might've died, Mattie. I—I couldn't let that happen. Mattie, no offense, you're not the sturdiest person in the world. Sending you there would've been practically murder."

Matthew sighed and quietly pulled his older brother closer into a hug. "This doesn't mean I forgive you, Alfred. I…I just understand why you did it."

Rowan, another crew member on the ship, grinned at Matthew and said, "You're brother's right, Matthew. The captain will take care of you."

Chatter continued for a few more minutes, though the two brothers remained in silence. It was only interrupted once, when Alfred felt prickling on the back of his neck, like someone was watching him. When he whipped around, the only person he could see was the creepy tall person with the pipe staring at him. Alfred shifted uncomfortably before turning away.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the two captains came out and called the crew over to them. The captain of Alfred's ship had a grim expression on his face, and the other captain just looked extremely smug. "I have a bad feeling about this…" Matthew muttered, grabbing Alfred's arm and tugging him closer.

"Aw, it'll be okay! Cap'n wouldn't let anything happen to you."

Matthew looked up at Alfred, looking like he wanted to argue, before sighing and backing down. "I guess."

"After much consideration, we have managed to come to a decision. This ship, the _Sparta, _will be allowed to keep out main navigator Matthew Williams." Whispers broke out after the statement, obviously pleased.

Alfred grinned over at his brother. "See? What'd I tell you?"

"I don't like where this is going…" Matthew muttered.

"Alfred Jones will be going instead."

There was a long, shocked silence… before an uproar started.

Alfred, mind over-loaded and head aching with the impact of the pipe, fainted.

**I really feel like this wasn't one of the best ones I've ever done… meaning it sucks worse than usual. I'm really not satisfied with it, but it's just a one-shot collection. Not like it's supposed to be Shakespeare. Still, I'm not pleased at all… **

**So this was the second one in the two part. I tried to make them as non OOC as possible. Meaning Alfred was a little stupid and naïve, and Mattie was shy and stuff. Except for the fact that I made Mattie really well liked. I just think that he'd be so much nicer at this sort of stuff than Alfred. **

**I got this idea out of a history textbook, so don't blame me if my ideas are a little inaccurate. Also, the only reason Alfred managed to get out of that pipe alive was: he has a strong will and a hard head. It's actually what impressed the captain enough to take the other brother. And no, Mattie doesn't come up with a super escape plan and crap. Alfred wakes up on a British vessel. **

**After getting off the high the reviews provided me, I realized I never thanked anyone. So, some thank-yous are in order. **

**Reviewers: Phamenia, L. Hawk, Cmpteraddict, cough, IMAxENIGMAx, cross-over-lover232, lol tinglies, Loudheart13, The French Otaku, and artfan. Also extra thanks to Phamenia and L. Hawk, since they were the first two to review. **

**Subscribers: cross-over-lover232, IMAxENIGMAx, Kami-SamanoShukusen, Loudheart14, phantomshadowdragon, Secret-H and Sed-chan. **

**Favorites: AgentRagDoll, aile-chan, Kami-SamanoShukusen **

**Loudheart14, Mega-Prindel-of-Doom, Miorochi, Perfect1Up, Phamenia, Sed-chan, and Sora Nadeshiko. **

**Thanks for everything. You guys keep me going! **

**IceEckos12 **


	12. War

**Disclaimer: Noo, I don't own APH. **

Alfred.

Lying in a coma, after a disease ravaged his country.

Ivan.

Physically and mentally unstable, after an anti-Russian government group started a civil war.

Yao.

At first…it seemed like he would be the one to help them all. He was rising, quickly gaining power…and yet, corrupted government officials began wasting money, and eventually… things got out of hand. His neighbors helped, but it looked like China would not recover in time to help.

Francis.

Italy's pawn.

Feliciano.

Launched a war that consumed half of Europe before anyone knew what was going on. Soon the Italian empire was growing at an astonishing rate; and no one seemed able to stop him. South Italy had mysteriously disappeared. How the sweet little Italian could turn into a monster in a short time was anybody's guess. Some say that the monster wasn't created; it was always there, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Ludwig.

Feliciano's bodyguard.

Kiku.

Arthur wasn't sure what Japan thought about all this, whether he approved of Italy's actions or was too afraid to speak out against his friend.

Matthew.

Had taken over the Canadian and United States government, helping them along until they could support themselves. He was also going to help Arthur launch an army that would make the Romans look like cheerleaders.

Arthur strode purposefully down the hall, bright, powerful green eyes sweeping the room as though to make sure no one else was there. He was quite sure there was no one, as the meeting had been so carefully planned that not even Matthew's bodyguards knew where they were. Still, with everything going on it would not hurt to be careful.

The country stopped in front of the door and quietly fingered the knob. Oh, how he did not want to be here. How he wanted to be at his home, where the wind blew quietly and the grass grew green, sipping his tea on the back porch in his rickety old rocking chair. No, here he was, planning a meeting with Matthew on something he never though he'd have to do: Defeat Italy. Where had the boy gone wrong?

There was no time for second thoughts; Arthur knew that this wasn't the Italy they knew. This was the Italy that used his friends as shields; that used fake friends as pawns to help take over the world. Yet, Arthur could still imagine Italy's smile; the way he'd cry 'Pasta' and the way he'd run up to his friends and lovingly hug them, even Kiku. Squashing such soft thoughts as that, Arthur knocked on the door.

Matthew flung open the door, eyes slightly red as though he'd been crying, before lurching out at Arthur and catching him in a desperate hug.

"Sh, sh, Matthew, I'm here. What's the matter?"

"I don't want to do this anymore, Arthur! I can't stand it! What do you think we're doing to the children, raising them in such a violent environment? Why does it have to be like this?"

Arthur blinked, alarmed by Matthew's sudden change of heart. "If we defeat Italy, than the children will be safe! Either we defeat him, or he defeats us."

Matthew sniffled slightly, before rubbing his nose, clearly embarrassed by his sudden bout of weakness. "I-I'm sorry, Arthur. Just got a little overwhelmed…you know." Arthur nodded in understanding. In reality, Arthur had to remind himself, Matthew was technically still a boy in country standards.

"Matthew…what brought this on? Surely you didn't just think, 'this is wrong'?"

The country looked down sadly. "It's Alfred."

Arthur's mouth widened into a little O. "Oh, Matthew…did he get worse? I thought they discovered the cure! I thought he was recovering!"

"No, well—yes, I suppose…well, Arthur, he died and came back."

His mouth snapped shut. "Oh."

"Oh, Arthur, I don't want him to be raised in an environment like this! He's still a boy, but when he grows up, all he'll know is war, and pain, and suffering!"

"This is the worst possible time he could've done that…though we still need his weapons and what's left of his army to do what we need to do. Matthew, even though I hate to say it, this is the world he's growing up in. We can't shield him from what's outside his own front door."

Matthew nodded.

Arthur smiled gently. "Matthew, as soon as the war's over we can properly raise Alfred. I'd like to see him before I leave, but first we need to complete these war plans. Is Russia still sending his stuff to us?"

Matthew nodded. "We're lucky that the civil war ended a while ago."

Grinning evilly, Arthur tugged some papers out of his pocket. "Excellent. Now…"

After a few hours of hard work, going at war plans and prodding strategies, Arthur came away quite satisfied. If this didn't defeat Italy, than nothing would. Everyone was helping; both the America's, what was left of the African countries (Italy had taken over almost all the countries, so the remaining few had banded together and were barely managing to push back against Italy's control), most of the Asian countries (including Japan), and what was left of the European countries. For the sake of their kinsmen, and the kin of their kinsmen, they'd better win.

"Now…" Arthur murmured quietly. "Where's…Alfred?"

Matthew looked worriedly over at the older nation. "Are you sure you want to see him?" No point in ripping open closed wounds.

"Yes, I…think I can handle him now. Where is he?" Arthur did not like the feeling of other people thinking him weak; however he knew that Matthew was right.

"He's with Russia. He really took a shine to Alfred. I'm not sure whether it's because he likes seeing his enemy even weaker than him or because he thinks Alfred is cute."

"Was it really…wise to leave him with Russia?" Arthur asked incredulously. After the civil war ended, Russia had taken to following Matthew around while he recovered. Matthew had just let him, feeling a bit sorry for the poor, older broken nation.

"Arthur, he's not that scary. Just trying to find his way in the world. The civil war really took a toll on him." Matthew walked over to a door leading away from the room, and opened it, peering inside before gesturing to Arthur with a strange expression on his face. Arthur hurried over before looking inside as well.

Ivan was sitting in the corner, curled into a little ball around a small, almost white-haired form. He was shaking slightly, probably crying and two slightly confused blue eyes peaked up from behind the enormous country's legs. Ivan had his face buried into the child's back, and just sat there, holding onto little Alfred as though his life depended on it. If it wasn't so depressing Arthur would've found it extremely cute.

Alfred noticed Matthew and Arthur standing in the doorway and looked guarded for a moment before recognizing one of them. "Big brother!"

Ivan slowly uncurled around Alfred after hearing his voice, teary purple eyes looking up at Matthew almost hopefully. He slowly rose to his feet; Alfred still clutched in his arms, and made his way over to Matthew slowly. Finally he stopped in front in front of Matthew, and Alfred wiggled excitedly, reaching out his arms to get over to his 'Uncle'. Matthew smiled and gently took Alfred from Ivan, who looked slightly disappointed.

"Matthew, I met Mr. Russia!" At this, Ivan shivered slightly. The Baltics were a slightly sore subject for him, as they'd fallen to Italy a few years ago. "He's really nice but he's really sad and he wouldn't tell me why! I tried to cheer him up but he just started crying. Who's that?" Arthur blinked; shocked, knowing he really shouldn't have been surprised by Alfred's boundless energy.

"Oh, Alfred, this is Arthur. He's our…father." Matthew said awkwardly, a little uncomfortable with calling Arthur 'father.'

"Dad?" Alfred asked curiously, trying out the word on his tongue. "Really?"

Arthur felt a part of him melt a little at Alfred's voice. Oh, he'd really missed this Alfred! "Yes, Alfred, I am your father." He did not feel the same hesitation as Matthew did.

Alfred considered this for a moment, before smiling widely. "Okay!"

"Why don't you go play with Russia, Alfred?" Matthew cooed to his little brother, who giggled and reached his arms back out to the silent, still nation. Ivan seemed to come to life when Alfred reached for him, and smiled softly when Alfred settled into his arms. Ivan whispered something quietly to Alfred, who just cocked his head cutely. Soon, they were occupied with teaching Alfred Russian.

"The war is already affecting him." Arthur murmured grimly to Matthew. Now he could see what had set him off so badly.

"Yes…when Alfred first met Ivan, it took many reassurances to even get him close. The only reason Alfred didn't do that to you is because I came with you. I assure you that if you had gone alone he would've become very untrusting." Matthew's eyes closed sadly.

"What a horrible time for him to do something like this… that idiot!" Arthur shook his head, knowing the only reason he wasn't completely freaking out about this was because the thought that Alfred was gone hadn't quite reached his brain.

"You're taking this better than I thought…Arthur, are you sure you'll be okay?" Matthew looked worriedly over at Arthur.

"I'll be fine, don't worry about me. We'll deal with this after we defeat Italy."

Arthur walked over to Alfred, and before he knew what he was doing Arthur suddenly had his arms wrapped tightly around the young boy. Alfred stiffened slightly, before recognizing who it was. "Father?" Alfred asked, and with a slightly prodding from Ivan said, "отец?"

Arthur chuckled slightly. "I have to go now, but I'll come visit as soon as I can. Stay safe, yeah?"

Alfred looked slightly confused. "Yeah, I will dad. Er, da."

Pressing a kiss into Alfred's blond-white hair, Arthur stood up and walked quickly from the room. He didn't know how he managed to walk out the door, into the car and drive to the hotel, but as soon as he flung himself onto the bed, he let out a sob and began to cry.

**Yeah, this one might be a little depressing, though I added little Alfred to cuten things up. And yes, he is learning Russian from Ivan. отец is supposed to mean father, but I got it off google translate so if it's wrong telllllll me!**

**So, the deal with Russia is that even though they managed to make everything good again, he literally had his mind ripped up and put back together. While he is getting better, he's kind of…brain dead. **

**The deal with Italy? I felt the need to make him evil for once, just to give him some depth. **

**So the thing is, none of the America's were touched by Italy's reign, because he was planning to take over Europe, Asia and Africa before moving overseas. Some reasons that Italy was able to get so big so quickly was that he had the element of surprise; no one expected him to launch a war and actually **_**win. **_**Also, he secretly shaped his army to be so powerful…**

**Of course, Switzerland wasn't touched. **

**And that's about it, I think. **

**IceEckos12 **


	13. Thank you?

IceEckos12 stared at her computer, rolling a pen between her teeth. Two dark brown eyes peeked out from under curly, wild chocolate hair, examining the screen with a slightly annoyed, slightly frustrated look on her tanned face. She shifted in her incredibly comfortable flannel Kumajiro PJ pants, and sighed. This was going to be a long day.

Finally Ice started typing, hands flying across the keys in well-practiced maneuvers. She managed to start a few sentences, before her pointer finger flew to the back-space key and practically started to rape it. _No, no, _no, NO! She really wanted to show her reviewers how much she appreciated them, but she didn't know how! Gah! Was being an author always this frustrating? Oh, hell yes. Writers block. Flames. Mary Sue's. Crappy writing.

_Back-space, back-space. _Scratch, scratch. Spitting out the pen when she realized that the thing was probably as germy as hell. If hell even was germy. The heat probably burned all the germs away, so did that mean that hell was the most sanitary place in the fictional world? No! Off topic again, dammit! She had to have…ADHD, or something!

; suddenly appeared on the word document as Ice slammed her fist down in frustration. Then she suddenly turned pale, still clenched fist hovering inches above the keyboard. "Noooo! I'm sorry, baby; momma will never, ever hit you again! Don't die on me, not now!"

She could almost imagine the computer giving off a pitiful whine, but it didn't give out as she'd expected it too. Great. Now what? Then she paused as an idea hit her. Of course! I mean, she'd said she wouldn't take requests, but…yeah! But how to spell it out…? Ah! Her fingers began to dance again.

_Dear beloved readers! The hero has arrived! _Hm…yeah…wait, Alfred wouldn't say 'beloved'.

_Dear awesome readers! The hero has arrived! _

_I'm here to stand in for the awesome IceEckos, who has something really important to say. She wants to say: Thank you! But she wants to show her appreciation in more ways than one. IceEckos is gonna start taking _requests! _Now someone can tell her something to write, and because you guys are so amazing she's gonna do it! _

IceEckos leaned back in her chair, the pen somehow finding its way back into her mouth as she examined her work. Still not as satisfied with the piece, Ice glared at the screen. Maybe she could just leave it as it was, and hope nobody noticed how bad it was… flicking her tongue absentmindedly over the pen, she dismissed the thought. What _was _she supposed to do? These were her readers, not some random people off the street! (Well, they sort of were, but sort of not…)

Tossing the pen back onto the computer desk, Ice leaned her back against the chair and pushed her feet to the wall, into her customary relaxing position. Think, think, think, think some more and never, ever get anywhere.

"You know, Ice, you could always just let the awesome me do it instead of that un-awesome America."

Ice turned and glared at the offending hallucination. "Shut up, Gilbert. You're not even there! You're just my imagination, caused by frustration rolling off my brain in sweat waves."

Gilbert grimaced, opened his mouth to protest and suddenly disappeared.

"Much better." Ice tapped her chin with the pen, nibbling the end. Within the minute it was in her mouth again.

These hands were meant for playing piano, or typing out angst or humor! She wasn't the…you know…touchy feely type! Anything that had anything resembling touchy-feely stuff she always hesitated to write! Ah, screw this.

Maybe tomorrow.

**Alright, so this basically spells out the problem: I want to show my appreciation to you guys, but…so anyway, I will be taking requests! They're more an appreciation thing than anything else. Either PM me or review the idea to me and I'll have a chapter of your choice whipped up! I don't do smut, or hard yaoi. I **_**can **_**do romance, though as I said earlier it's like trying to get Blackbeard to write a love poem. He'll do it, very awkwardly. **

**Thanks to all my beloved readers, **

**IceEcko12**


	14. Dance

**Disclaimer:…I'm too lazy to do this. If you want to see the disclaimer, flip back a few chapters. **

Poland always did know how to make an entrance.

Lithuania was staring furiously into the corner, arms folded against his black jacket and plain white shirt. His arms were so tight across his chest that the once creaseless, impeccably ironed shirt was soon gaining deep folds. One of his feet was tapping wildly, a jittery, nervous sound that set everyone near him on edge. However, most people avoided him, what with the malicious aura pouring off him in waves. It was almost enough to rival Russia's, which was perhaps why Estonia and Latvia were on the other side of the room, shivering like mad. Maybe _at one time_ Lithuania would've cared, but he was very, very angry.

America, one of his best friends, swirled cheerfully around the room, clutching a screeching England in his arms. France was laughing. Russia, dangerously twirling her silver pipe, observed the couple with a slightly predatory look on her face. China was in the corner, trying to get Japan (who was wearing a tasteful kimono) to come out and dance with him. Prussia was laughing loudly at something the little country who looked a lot like America said, and the little country…Canada? Let out a tiny giggle behind her pale hand. Germany's eyes were fixated on Italy, as she led him happily around the room, little dress trailing gracefully behind her. Spain's eyes were fixed on his Italian (more specifically, her boobs (which she happened to notice at that moment and slap him so hard a big red hand print appeared on his face)), and he sheepishly chuckled before trying to get her to dance with him (From the looks of it she was trying very hard to deny it, though her resistance was crumbling). Even the Baltics were in the corner, pleasantly talking with each other. No one was making a big fuss. Of course, not his girlfriend.

"Like, hello everyone!" Poland had said, sweeping in, arms raised to show her short pink dress made of loose fabric, fitting her perfectly. She had this condescending smirk on her face, as she watched every guy's eyes fall on her and stay there. The guy's dates (save for America and Germany; America because he just looked once curiously at Poland before shrugging and turning, and Germany because he's way too sweet to focus on someone else) were all berated by their respective girls, S. Italy being especially loud and shouting at Spain in garbled Italian.

Poland sashayed over to Lithuania, smirking at his dark frown and angry posture. She bent down, placing a hand on his shoulder a whispering into his ear, "Well, Liet? What do you think?" Lithuania turned to retort angrily, before blushing and whipping away from the flippant display of her chest. "D-Don't attract attention like that."

"Oh, is someone j-e-a-l-o-u-s?" Poland drew out the word in that way that she could, and his face got even redder.

"Like, dance with me?" Lithuania barely acknowledged when she drew away from him, holding her hand out so he could take it. The angry nation considered for a moment refusing, just to make Poland made, but the pouty look on her face instantly changed his mind.

Wordlessly Lithuania took her hand, not daring to look in her big eyes.

"Look, if you were, like, so bothered by it, why didn't you just say anything?"

Lithuania finally looked, and regretted it quickly. "I…um…"

"You're probably wondering how I can ever be faithful with all those guys after me." She said flatly after a moment of silence.

"Well…yes, I…no." Lithuania paused. That was part of it. "Um…it's because…"

Poland waited patiently for Lithuania to compose himself before poking the subject again. "Yeah? So, like, what is it?"

Lithuania mumbled something to soft to be heard, and Poland leaned in closer, frowning. "Come _on, _Liet! I can't understand you if I can't hear you!"

"I can't stand all them looking at you like that!" He burst out, face flushing. "It feels like they're undressing you with their eyes!"

Poland sighed, rolling her bright green eyes in slight annoyance, before grabbing his collar and pulling his face down to hers, ending on her lips. Lithuania's face was aflame as Poland deepened the kiss, and they stayed like that for a moment before coming up for air. "Liet… You've always been the only one for me. They can look as much as they want, but that's about as far as they'll get."

**First request ever! Done for IMAxENIGMAx! Which was basically a fem!Poland/Lithuania one-shot. As you can see, yes, not only is Poland gender-bended but a whole bunch of people. I felt: Ah, while I'm doing Poland I might as well do other people too! **

**Not much else to say. Thanks!**

**IceEckos12**


	15. Hospital

**Disclaimer and shit.**

_Beep. _

_Beep._

_Beep. _

Yao dragged a hand through his rumpled hair, sighing loudly as he listened to the annoying sound of the heart monitor. Well…maybe it was okay, since it was the only way that he knew that Kiku was still alive.

Yes, sitting in front of him was his little brother. Kiku. _Japan. _

In the hospital for a stupid mistake.

Honestly, Yao didn't blame Alfred, especially after seeing how guilty he looked after sending out the atomic bombs. It was obvious that the big nation hadn't wanted to hurt his Asian friend, but with his country screaming for Japan's blood it had been inevitable: there would be retaliation. Yao had known the day it happened; just seeing Alfred come in with his bloodshot eyes was enough to let him know. Suddenly he felt a flare of anger; America had no right to bomb his little brother! Curse him! Kill him! Then, the anger drained out of him, leaving him feeling slightly exhausted, and he slumped into his chair, watching Kiku with baggy eyes. He couldn't blame Alfred; he just wanted to end the war, and the only way was to beat Kiku down. However, he felt that Alfred had gone overboard, but that was the American's style.

Japan should've known not to press America; when put in a corner, he followed his instincts and lashed out, and America lashing out was especially dangerous, as the boy had freakish strength. Yao sighed again. Yes, America had lashed out, and had hurt Japan badly in the process. If only there wasn't a war going on. If only they could go back to the days where Japan would smile up at him and take his hand, and they would go walking in the bamboo forest without a care in the world. If only, if only…

Japan stirred quietly, letting out a soft moan, and Yao immediately leapt forward and grasped the injured boy's pale hand. "Japan?" He asked quietly.

The boy opened his dark eyes, letting them travel aimlessly before landing on his extremely worried brother. "China…?" He murmured, squinting as though he couldn't quite believe his eyes. "Wha…What happened?"

"Two nuclear strikes, in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, aru. America." China explained breathlessly, watching his brother's eyes wander around the room again.

"How…long?" Japan winced slightly as he tried to sit up, but China immediately pressed a hand to his chest and forced him back down. "Two months." Was the quick reply.

Japan's eyes widened, looking alarmed. "How bad? _Tell me how bad!" _

China looked away, avoiding Japan's piercing gaze. "Over 100,000 in Hiroshima and over 60,000 in Nagasaki, aru." He decided not to mention what the radiation was doing to people. As he stared at Japan's lost look, China cleared his throat. "You, uh…surrendered, aru. No more pain, Japan, aru. You're free."

Japan stared blankly ahead, obviously unsure what to say…or even think. Though Japan had never been the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, it was easy to tell what he was thinking: confusion, hopelessness, betrayal, anger, understanding, and then just plain weariness. Again, China felt another flare of anger at America for making his little brother like this. He had no right! No right at all to just bomb him and—but no, Yao felt the anger drain out again. America just wanted the war over as much as he did, which made him reckless.

"I…see." The boy spoke so softly that Yao had to lean in just to hear him. "Have…Italy and…Germany…stopped in?"

China felt relieved that he could finally share some good news. "Oh, yes! Italy stops in every day, and Germany gets in when he can, aru. See? All those cards are from him. He wouldn't stop worrying about you, aru." He continued babbling, feeling pleased with the thought he was cheering Japan up. "The flowers are from Taiwan, and all the hats are from Vietnam, aru. Korea dropped in with the free…kimchi… coupons…and all the stuffed animals are from America! He also said that when you got better he was going to give you so much ice cream your brain would turn into a brainsickle, aru (what a freak!). I brought in the balloons, aru. Aren't they nice? I think they really brighten up the place, aru. I mean, it's so boring and white…" China trailed off when he realized that Japan wasn't paying attention. "Er…Japan? You don't like the balloons? No, I'll bet it's America's damned stuffed animals, aru. I'll send them back to that asshole as soon as I can…" Again, China trailed off when he noticed Japan shaking…as though he was _crying. _

"J-Japan! I'm so sorry, I never should've let America in here, especially after what he did, aru! Look, I know that his ice cream is a scary thought, but you can always refuse it, aru! Please don't cry…"

Japan pressed a hand to his face, trying to hide his tears. "I…apologize. P-Please excuse me for a moment, I…"

And China knew he'd never have been able to resist it when he reached over and pulled Japan into a tight, almost desperate hug. He pressed Japan's wet, teary face to his shoulder, wrapping his arms gently around the poor, injured boy. Japan was, after all, just a boy. "Don't hold it in, Japan. Let it out."

Japan froze, teary black eyes peeking out from behind China's thin, bony shoulder, before he slowly relaxed into his brother's arms and just started to sob.

"Sh, sh." China murmured, stroking Japan's hair and planting a soft, gentle kiss on his brother's forehead as he cried. "I won't let anyone hurt you, ever again."

**D'aw… fluff 3! Anyway, this is a request from cross-over-lover! (No, loyal reviewer! It would not be too much to ask to do a Japan/China fluff after the bombing in WW2!) Oh, and if any of this is wrong or anything, don't blame me. I'm not a history buff. Well, maybe I am, but...**

**I didn't really focus on the fluff, since I'm horrible at writing that sort of thing. I hope this is considered fluff…^^'. **

**Thanks!**

**IceEckos12**

**P.S. GAH! What is with the new formats on the accounts?**


	16. Timeline

**READ THE GODDAMN BOTTOM AND THIS WILL MAKE SO MUCH MORE SENSE AND IF YOU IGNORE THIS NOTICE I WILL STALK YOU IN YOUR SLEEEEEEEEP!**

**Ahem. **

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own APH.**

Timeline

America's timeline:

2020: America, after revealing his secret to his psycho boss, is spirited away to a science lab near the Canadian border for testing.

2022: After enduring months of torture, America is offered an escape: one last experiment, and he will be allowed to return home; of course, he must keep the science lab secret. In desperation, America accepts the offer, but is forced into a test tube where they put him in a comatose to get everything they need. They plan to keep him in there for 40 years.

2030: The president destroys the government and creates a Monarchy, where he is the king. America, in a testing tube for the last eight years, is still in a coma.

2035: The king is assassinated and a proper government is reestablished. The only ones who know of Alfred are the small group of scientists who were originally assigned to work on him. They begin training more scientists to take on the project when they are gone.

2059: The government decides that the lab where America is hidden is just a waste of space and begins refurbishing it into something more usable. The scientists seal off America's room to the outside world, planning to come back once the building is finished and get back to work.

2061: The lab is one of the most powerful buildings in the entire U.S. The scientists, with no way to get back to Alfred, are forced to abandon the nation in hopes that some situation will arise where they will reach him.

2115: A teen prodigy accidently discovers on one of the oldest and most well kept secrets of the human world; he reads a journal describing everything about the nation, and begins to revive the nation in hopes that he will be able to discover the nation's secrets, and hopefully do some testing.

2120: America awakens and escapes from the lab, and begins the long trek to Canada, not quite knowing where he is, or even what time he's in…

World timeline:

2020: America vanishes off the face of the earth. After months of searching (which is hindered by America's new, corruptive president), the countries give up on America in hopes he will turn up on his own.

2022: America is declared dead.

2029: An anti-government group that has been stirring since the 1800's rears its ugly head and begins attacking the world governments. They are labeled, "The Liberators".

2030: America's president, using the confusion of the anti-government group, takes control of the nation and allows the Liberators to use the nation as his base. Other nations consider the possibility that Alfred has betrayed them.

2035: With the help of Russia and England, the American people drive the corrupted king out and reestablish a firm government. The Liberators lost their main base, but still continues to terrorize the government. While there, England and Russia learn that America hadn't been seen for over 15 years. Suspicions rise.

2040: A sudden wave of the Liberator's attacks leaves several weak, small countries under Liberator control. Other big countries finally realize what a serious threat the Liberator's are and began pumping more into their security and armies.

2045: A serious blunder and a minor spy discovers where some of the great leaders of Russia will be one day, and manages to kill all of them in one of the most gruesome assassinations of Russian government people that had ever been seen. Liberator quickly took control of the panic and put mighty Russia under its rule.

2060: Russia and a band of smaller countries finally makes its move on the world. After quickly taking control of Northern Asia, Russia turns its attention on Southern Asia. With careful attacks no other countries are taken, though they are weakened. This is remedied immediately.

2062: Russia and his group of Northern Asian countries are renamed as, "The Union of the Liberators".

2063: The rest of the world declares war on the Union of the Liberators.

2070: the UL (Union of the Liberators) makes a daring move against Northern Europe, effectively taking most northern nations. This is a deadly strike in the war, giving the UL the upper hand.

2075: In a last ditch attempt to defeat UL, the rest of the nations in the world and form a single nation**[1]** born to destroy the UL: "The Union of the World".

2085: The Union of the World has most of Europe back, and begins to form a strategy that should effectively dissipate the UL, which would be completed almost 11 years later.

2090: In a surprise move, the UL makes a peace treaty with the UW (Union of the World) and agrees to leave them alone. UW demands payment and resources, which UL reluctantly agrees to do. UW also keeps the UL from making weapons.

2092: The UW dissipates, and only a battlefield is all that remains of the once mighty alliance that stood against a might enemy. The world begins to return to what it once was, but England and the rest of the nations are still wondering what happened to America. Canada agrees to briefly look for his brother, in case anything they missed turns up on the over 50 yearlong case. In a sheer stroke of luck, Canada finds out that America was tested on, and goes to investigate the lab. Another stroke of luck and he finds the test notes, and shows the rest of the nations, who're thrown into a rage that anyone could do such an inhumane thing. Thinking that the scientists must have found a way to kill America, the nations know that they must hide themselves deeper than ever.

2117: The UL makes a dangerous surprise attack against the rest of the nations, catching them in surprise and effectively absorbing every Asian nation except China. Not hesitating, the UL catches everyone off guard by sending nuclear missiles into Europe, getting half to surrender. Before long, the UW is reformed and the world is pitted deep into the war again.

2120: America shows up on Canada's doorstep.

**If you read the top and actually are reading the authors note, good for you. If not, you're probably sooo confused right now. **

**This is actually supposed to be a sneak peek of a story I plan to be writing after Drunken Abandon is finished. Basically America gets captured, and then the shit hits the fan when an anti-government group that's been sulking since the 1800's makes its move. Just look over this, and you'll completely understand. And please review, I need your guys opinion on this. Thanks!**

**Ciao!**

**IceEckos12**


	17. Snapped

**Disclaimer: I don't own APH.**

"Canada who?"

America sighed, looking slightly annoyed. "You know! Mattie? My brother? Real shy, likes pancakes and syrup?"

England frowned at me, big bushy eyebrows furrowed on his forehead. "Well, if he's anything like you—"

"He's not anything like me, Iggy! He's the voice of reason. Don't you remember? He was your colony for a while." America ground out, looking suitably annoyed with the fact that England just couldn't remember who I was. He was right to be annoyed.

England glanced over at me unsurely, while I stared at him with chilling purple eyes. "Well, ah, I suppose…nice to meet you?" He held out his hand to me, looking mildly confused, as though he couldn't quite believe he'd ever met me before.

I slapped his hand away. "My name is Canada, and I am your former colony. I'm much more polite than my brother, and smarter, and have fewer enemies than him. I politely asked for my freedom, which you gave to me, and my birthday is on July 1st. You are England, and you are a former empire. You're polite, smart, but have a stick up your ass. You have many enemies, and you hate France." England stared at me with a shocked face, and I knew my own face had contorted into an evil glare. Even America, idiotic brute that he was, was slowly inching away from me. "My brother is an idiot, and not very bright, but at least he remembers my name. Something _you _lack. C'mon, America." I summoned my brother with a wave of my hand, and he followed me obediently. "Some things are going to start changing around here. First thing I need to do is make a name for myself. What do you say, _brother_? Canadian Empire sounds rather dashing, now doesn't it?"

Well, I didn't go and try to take over the world. No, I only took one nation and one nation alone; a nation by the name of England. His attempts to stop me were cute, and mildly amusing. Every attempt though, was just a little bit more desperate each time. I even believed if I drew it out long enough, he would eventually pull out the atomic bombs—or something equally as devastating. So, I finished it.

And England was mine.

"Canada, this is wrong."

Ah, yes…America.

"I know you hate England for forgetting you, but you need to stop."

He was useful, I suppose. But he had a voice, and a brain that wasn't all that stupid. It was troublesome most of the time, but sometimes it just happened to come in handy.

"This isn't you…brother. What happened? What happened to the voice of reason?"

This was one of those moments where his brain was _not _coming in handy.

"If you continue, I'll have no choice but to use force. I don't want to hurt you. And neither do the rest of the allies. Stop this _madness _Canada…Mattie…my brother. Before it's too late."

I strode up to America, getting so close that if we were any close we'd be kissing. "America, I love you and I will not hurt you. However I will not hesitate to destroy the rest of your precious allies."

America backed away slowly, carefully, looking at me with regretful, sorrowful eyes. I stared back with equally cold eyes. "America, you are the only one who is allowed to destroy me, but don't expect me to go down without a fight. My name _will _go down in history!"

I knelt on the floor next to his broken body, watching him slowly breath…in, out, in, out…And his breath was hitching, and I watched the tears fall from my former brother's eyes. Smirking, I grabbed England's chin. His green eyes looked up at me, dazed and numb, as though he couldn't quite see me. Then his eyes widened when he realized just who he was looking at.

I smirked at him as he scrambled away, chains slightly hindering his movements. Such a pitiful sight… "How the mighty have fallen." I gloated, watching his face. _Fear. _Never had the emotion looked so sweet.

"You'll be defeated! Such a monster couldn't live!" England howled as loud as he could (not very loud—his vocal cords were slightly mussed from so much screaming), and caught me by surprise in a punch to the face. As I vaulted up, I rubbed my cheek. So the title 'former pirate' wasn't just for show, then.

I think he was even more surprised than I was to have punched me.

Moving so fast I knew he wouldn't have been able to track me, I landed a knee into his stomach, before twisting and kicking him in the side. He rolled several times, and coughed slightly. As he got slowly up to his hands his knees, he looked up, and nearly screamed when he saw my face inches from his. I roughly grabbed his chin before he could turn away.

"What. Is. My. Name?"

England looked down. "Canada…"

"Why…?"

America was crying, eyes shut, and yet I knew if I moved the gun in his hand would shoot me.

"Why did you do it, Canada?"

Betrayal.

"You're my brother, Canada…so sweet and kind…when did you become a monster?"

Sting.

Regret.

"Wasn't I enough? Did you really need everyone else's approval?"

Shock. Denial.

"At least you weren't alone, Canada."

That's right—he was hated by the other nations. If I was gone, who was there left for him?

"Good-bye, brother."

Death.

**Woah…some pretty dark stuff going on in here. This is another request cross-over-lover232. I hope this is good enough, though I made Canada pretty evil. Heh. Evil Canada amuses me greatly. Too bad for England. **

**Still taking requests! **

**Do svidanya! **

**IceEckos12**


	18. Found

**Disclaimer: You know, I'm really feeling lazy about this right now. No own APH. **

_Clip, clop, clip, clop._

England groaned, rubbing his back as he stretched as best he could on top of his horse. Then he slumped, before attempting to stretch again. There was a loud popping sound, and England slumped again into his seat, giving up. He would have to subject himself to a very, _very _sore back.

Don't get him wrong; England loved horse-back riding as much as he loved horses, but right now he was nursing a sore back and sore ego. Right now horse-back riding wasn't so appealing. Now he _really _wished he'd brought the car. _Oh, that's right. _England griped to himself. _You _did. _Cars just can't travel the unpaved paths of this forest!_

So why was England riding on a very uncomfortable horse down a bumpy forest path in the first place? Well, let's think… it all started with the rumor about a lost grandson of Rome's…

"_Geez, those Southern Italians are always so grumpy!" America complained, watching the Italians hiss and spit at him. _

_England rolled his eyes. "Maybe I shouldn't have taken you here in the first place!"_

_The boy groaned, flinching when he caught the glare of a small, angry Italian. "Why didn't you take us to Northern Italy? They're so much nicer!" _

_While England started arguing with America, on the inside he was thinking. Why were the Northern Italian's so different from the Southern Italians? Romano was the same as the Southern Italians; rude, lazy and cowardly. However the Northern Italian's were infinitely nicer; they were honorable and fiercely loyal, a bit cowardly and laid back. England couldn't help wondering why they were so drastically different. He figured he'd asked Romano later. _

* * *

><p>"<em>What do you mean?" Romano asked, glaring angrily at England. <em>

"_You're not stupid, Romano, you know what I said. Why are Northern Italians so different from Southern Italians?" England sighed impatiently and tapped his foot, waiting for Romano to respond. _

_Romano stared at England, looking as though he were trying to read exactly what England was thinking. The examination continued for several minutes, making England feel extremely uncomfortable under Romano's scrutinizing gaze. Finally, Romano dropped his eyes and sighed, gesturing for England to sit down. As England got comfortable, Romano shut his eyes and took a deep breath. _

"_When I was younger…I had a little brother." _

_England's mouth dropped. "Wha…what?"_

_Romano snarled angrily at England. "I hate repeating myself! I just said I had a little brother!" _

_England rose up his arms in an 'I surrender' position. "Sorry, continue." _

_Romano took a few breaths to calm himself before continuing. "My grandfather loved my little brother—he was…sweet, and loved to paint. Grandfather took my little brother called Veneziano with him somewhere—I'm not exactly sure where…but when grandfather disappeared…so did my little brother. I'm certain that where ever my little brother is, he's Northern Italy." _

_England stared at Romano, whose hands were folded in front of his mouth, and his eyes, usually so spiteful, were full of sadness. "I looked for him for years…so long…but I could never find him." _

_England was so touched by the story…who knew Romano, the spiteful, spitfire, Italian would go looking for his younger brother…England stood up, a fire burning in his eyes. "I'll find your brother, Romano." The Italian looked up in shock, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. "I promise."_

England had looked everywhere, until by chance he'd glanced through some old records from an English traveler who'd gone to Italy. He'd read, _"As I stayed in the little village, I heard rumors of an immortal monster who lived deep in the forest. I did not look for the monster, so as not to tempt fate." _It was one of the biggest leads he'd gotten, and he wasn't about to let it go. Now he wished he hadn't promised to find that elusive little Italian.

That's when he spotted it.

A little town that wasn't on the map, which was hidden deep in the woods where no town should ever be. _What on earth…?_

As he approached the gate, he spotted a young man with coppery brown hair sitting in the chair, his eyes closed and seemingly oblivious to the world. As England approached, the teen's head whipped toward him and a smile brightened his face. "Hello!" He called, waving England over. "What're your intentions in the village?"

England frowned, a little confused by the question. Why…? Oh, this person was probably here to guard the village. "I'm here for knowledge, and to satisfy curiosity."

The Italian stared at him, finally opening his eyes (reddish amber) and staring at England in a disturbingly familiar stare. _Now where have I felt a stare like this before…? _England wondered, squirming under the searching gaze.

"Alright, you can go in! If I catch you doing something you weren't here to do…" The Italian closed his eyes and gave a rather creepy smile. England nodded, his mouth twitching, before entering.

He was greeted with cheerful waves and curious stares; obviously this village didn't get many visitors. As he searched for an inn, he heard someone call to him. Turning around, he saw it was the same strange boy at the gate. "Hello, stranger! Do you need someplace to put your horse and stay for the night?" He asked, tilting his head pleasantly. "I have a room!"

As soon as the teen had acknowledged England, the rest of the villagers converged on him. "Where are you from?" "What's your name?" "Who are you?" "What do you do for a living?" "What's the outside world like?"

England stared at them with wide eyes, and then looked at the young man who had started it all. "Who exactly are you?" He wondered out loud.

"I'm this village's protector!" The man said, placing a hand to his chest. "If I trust you, then everyone else trusts you!"

England vowed to stay _very _close to this man.

* * *

><p>As England dug into the delicious Italian food, he glanced up at his host. The man had his eyes closed in pleasure, and was devouring his pasta as quickly as America devoured his hamburgers. He gulped down another forkful of pasta, and then noticed that England was staring at him. He shifted slightly, and offered, "My name is Feliciano! Who're you?"<p>

England grasped at the conversation starter. "My name is En—Arthur Kirkland. I research mysteries and legends."

Feliciano smiled. "Really? What are you looking for here?"

England swallowed down another mouthful, wishing he'd gotten Romano's brother's name, before continuing. "Well, I heard tale of an immortal beast living here, and decided to come looking." Feliciano paused for a moment, looking at him with wide eyes. "Immortal…beast?"

England was quick to reassure him. "Honestly I don't think it's a beast—I think that people were frightened and exaggerated."

The Italian calmed himself, though he looked a little pale. England was relieved; the last thing he needed was people thinking that the person who was Northern Italy was evil!

"I'll tell you something; I've actually been researching these 'immortal beasts'" England made finger quotes and 'immortal beasts' "For quite some time; I get the impression that they represent a country, as a country. And as long as the country survives…so does the person." England shrugged, looking into Feliciano's wide, disbelieving eyes. "Anything's possible."

* * *

><p>England had been staying for two days, pouring over old records in the villages and hearing talk and gossip, when it happened.<p>

He and Feliciano had been at the front gate, 'guarding' (England wasn't really sure there was much to guard) the little village, when several men on foot showed their faces. The walked tall and proud, but had a mean look to them. England and Feliciano were instantly on guard. As the men approached, Feliciano rose up from his chair and called to them, "What business do you have in this village?"

The leader smirked. "Just bandits, no need to worry."

Feliciano narrowed his eyes. "Then I'm afraid I can't let you through."

England rose to support Feliciano, but was pushed back down by a surprisingly strong tanned hand. "Not unless I need help." He murmured.

"Oh, does the little guard think he can protect his measly little village? We're big, strong bandits! You're outnumbered!"

Feliciano drew a silver staff from under the chair, and England blinked in surprise; he hadn't seen it at all during his stay.

"You guys stay back; I'll take care of this _trash._"

Feliciano watched coldly as the man came at him, brandishing a large dagger. The dagger was extremely sharp, and actually seemed to be good quality. England knew that if it hit Feliciano, he'd be cut up like butter. That's when the Italian shot England a friendly, reassuring smile, leaving England stunned.

Feliciano knocked aside the clumsy stab, leaving his enemy wide open. He flipped the staff, and it slammed right into the man's groin. As the man fell to the ground, Feliciano flipped his staff again, and it slammed onto the bandit's head and knocked him out cold. This happened all in less than 10 seconds. The audience gaped.

"Get him!" Roared one of the bandits, and they converged on Feliciano, only to be knocked aside. In only seconds, the bandits were beaten down, and incapacitated.

England stared, before sitting down hard, not even remembering when he'd first stood up. "I…I think I'm going to need a drink.

And suddenly England realized where he'd seen that stare before.

* * *

><p>"How…how did you do that?"<p>

Feliciano shifted uncomfortably, folding his hands against his lemonade, watching as England downed another glass of brandy.

"You know…I…trained a lot…"

"Oh, you sure trained a lot. You trained for over 500 years!" England slurred, brandishing his glass like a weapon into Feliciano's shocked face. "You're Rome's lost grandson, I'll bet! I been looking all over for you, you look just like your brother!" He'd really hoped to keep it a secret longer, but his stupid, influenced brain was not thinking about the consequences at all.

"How did you know?" The Italian squeaked, not bothering to hide it.

"I'm England!" He shouted loudly. "You look just like your brother, yeah? He's worried sick about you, we all are! You need to come…and…visit!" England finished the rest of his brandy and passed out.

* * *

><p>Romano sighed, staring at the paperwork he was <em>supposed <em>to be working on. All he was thinking about—and could think about— was his little brother, whom he hadn't thought about in a long time. He hadn't _had _to think about his little brother, since he'd buried the faded memories and feelings deep into the back of his mind. The memories were too painful, since he'd never been very nice to his little brother, and he was still extremely guilty about that. Sighing again, he picked up his pen and attempted to get back to work.

And was promptly interrupted by a knock and the door.

"Who's there, goddammit?" Romano howled, throwing the pen at the desk.

"V-Veh! I'm sorry, should I come back later?" A timid voice squeaked back.

"No, you're already here! Just come in!" Romano put his head in his hands, not looking up as the person sunk into the chair in front of him. "Who are you and what do you want?" He asked blandly.

"Um…This is where Mr. Arthur told me I could find you—ah, I mean…England."

Romano's head shot up, and he found himself staring into two vaguely familiar, quizzical reddish-amber eyes. Feeling his own greenish eyes narrow, Romano let out a growl. "Who the hell _are _you?"

The little Italian blinked and blushed, looking down at the floor with a shy expression on his face. "Um…Mr. England told me…that I…had a brother…and that I was North Italy?" North Italy—Veneziano—looked up at Romano with hesitant, questioning eyes.

Romano's mouth opened slightly, and it only took a minute for his eyes to fill with tears. "'Eziano…?" He whispered, tears slowly beginning trickle down his face.

Feliciano began to panic. "Mi Dispiace! Mi Dispiace! Eeeee!" He leapt from his seat, beginning to back away, waving his hands and spewing out apologies. Just as he was about to leave, he found himself caught in a warm, wet hug. He was shocked to find that his older brother was crying, and laughing, at the same time. He spoke no words, but Feliciano could feel everything; the worry, the happiness, the years of hurting, wondering when he'd be found…

So this was what it felt like to have a brother.

Laughing and just beginning to cry, Feliciano hugged his brother back and pulled him close. "I'm home! Sorry to keep you waiting!"

**Aw, *wipes tear away* brotherly fluff.**

**Okay, so the reason the Feli is so brave when he's protecting the village is one reason and one reason alone: before Rome left, he left Feli close to a village; namely, our little village. The villagers accepted Feli, as long as he protected them from danger. To keep his promise to the villagers, Feliciano had to get brave and actually **_**protect **_**the village. Feliciano, as you can tell, is still much a coward dealing with other people and their feelings. His fears also cripple worse than fears would other people. **

**Nothing else, I think…**

**Grazie!**

**IceEckos12 **


	19. Student Memo

**Disclaimer: World Academy was inspired by the many school stories flying around. Hetalia is not mine, but Slovenia and Croatia _are _mine.**

_**Principal Memo:**_

_Hello, new countries/__half-countries*!_

_Welcome to World Academy High, where you learn how to be a proper, respectable country! _

_We have rounded up all the countries in the world—you—and brought them here to be taught at our spacious, exquisite school. Here you will learn a multitude of things, including everything you need to know for future success. Please note that if you fail, it's your fault. Have a nice day!_

_Thank you for your time, _

_Principal Rome_

_*Edit by North and South Italy. _

_**Teachers:**_

_Written by England_

_Edited by America_

_Hello! In this section of the document we explain the teachers; such as who they are, and anything you may need to worry about (any quirks, or things that would 'set the teacher into a rampage'.) __Geez, Iggy, don't be so stuffy! Basically we're telling you how to kiss the teachers asses. _

_Home room/Study hall: Your home room/ study hall is taught by Greece. In this class, as long as you don't cause a fuss you should be fine. Greece is a very easygoing teacher, so you can relax around him. God knows he'll relax around you. However during study hall you're supposed to be either working or reading, so please just do. Your. Work. We'll know if you don't. __Yup, cause Iggy's going to be after you if you don't. Oh, and you can cause a 'fuss' as long as you don't wake Greece up. And if you really want to be close to him, you gotta compliment his cats. He loves his goddamn cats. Oh, and hate Turkey. Greece absolutely _hates _Turkey. Not the food, the country. _

_Science: Your science teacher(s) are Russia and America (__Hell yeah!). __Please note that Russia originally taught this class alone, but then an 'incident' happened to one of the former students and we had to add someone to keep Russia under control, or distract him. __Wasn't that student found six feet underground with a cracked skull? __During class just remain silent and pay attention, no matter what happens. If one of the experiments starts smoking, don't be alarmed. This happens quite often, and quietly evacuate from the classroom. Don't worry about your teachers. They'll be fine. __What? Iggy, do you not care about me anymore? Most certainly do _not _leave us in the classroom! Oh, and never, never, never, ever, never, ever, ever,everevereverevernevernever touch my cowlick. _

_History: Your history class is taught by China. China is a very easy going teacher, and in his class you will probably frequently take trips to a nearby China Town if you are well behaved. If not, China is over 3000 years old and knows many, many punishments, including Chinese water torture. He will punish you if you insult his wok, probably with his wok, which he is very proud of. China also loves gifts and presents, including tea, Hello Kitty merchandise, and panda backpacks. If you pay attention in class and behave China will like you, and if you give him the gifts you will be his favorite. __Don't ignore China. Seriously. And never _ever _refuse some of his food 'cause you'll hurt his feelings. Also, if you can find Japan's baby pictures China will pay serious cash to get them. _

_Grammar/Literature: This class is taught by me, England! __He's been waiting for this moment for forever ;). __Um…I… __Here, I'll just talk about him! Okay, England's a nice guy, as long as you don't piss him off. Don't have fun, for one thing. Anything that looks like you're having fun will set him off pretty quickly. If you want to make him happy, keep your shirt tucked in and your back straight. Also, give him tea. It's like his heroin or something. Maybe he puts heroin in his tea? Don't think so. And give him burnt food, and never eat some of his food. Make whatever excuses you can, just get away from his food. Really. England's easy to piss off, so you know… do your homework, and don't use bad grammar. _

_Math: Taught by…um…Who again? __Canada. You know, my brother? Anyway, he's really shy, so pay attention or you might miss something. Don't insult my brother or make him cry, because I'll be after your asses. So please just pay attention and give him maple syrup. _

_Family consumer science: Taught by Hungary, and North and South Italy. Hungary is an easy teacher to please, but be neat around her! She won't appreciate it if you drag mud all over her floors, and she'll be much happier with you if you keep your uniforms clean. If you dirty your uniform, most likely she'll use it as an example and clean it, and I'm not sure if she'll give you clothes to wear while she's cleaning it. __She won't, Ig, I checked. Another thing; Hungary is obsessed with romance, mostly gay romance. If you're like that, stay away from her if you don't want your pictures in her notebook. __The Italy's are much easier to please (__Actually, Romano is never happy. You can't please him, it's impossible.). __Just show up, listen to what they say, and do your work. If you don't, North Italy will most likely call in Germany, and he'll be in a bad mood because he had to leave his class, so you won't be getting any mercy from him. To please the Italian brothers, bring them pasta and tomatoes. _

_Gym: This class is taught by Germany, your worst nightmare. Just do as he says and you should be fine. He's not as tough as he looks, so just be kind and do your work. However if you skimp on your work in Gym, he will _come _for you. Just do your best. __He'll work you to the ground. Be afraid. __To make him a little happier, bring him potatoes and wurst. If Germany is called from the class, just sit there and don't move a muscle. __The call will either be from the Principal, Prussia or Italy. If he comes back in a bad mood, it will either be Prussia or Italy. If he comes back in a very, _very _good mood it will be Italy. If he acts the same it was the principal. __Please note that a side weapons class will be taught by Switzerland and his little sister Liechtenstein. Pay attention and do your best in this class, though you shouldn't have to worry much because Liechtenstein keeps her brother under control. _

_Music: Music classes are taught by Austria. He's a very…strict teacher and expects you to pay attention without him having to ask you. Don't do anything to anger him; such as talking out of turn, starting fist fights, tracking dirt into the classroom, smelling, or anything of the sort. __Also, don't breath his air, comment on the stick up his ass, insult his pansy music classes, comment on his weakness, call him an old man, or do anything that even resembles human. Be an obedient _robot. 

_Health: Taught by two different teachers: Spain and France. First, I would like to say that France is a bastard and a pedophile, so avoid close contact, or being the same room alone together. He's a flirt and a coward, so if you're his favorite it's a bad thing. Most likely he wants to get a hand in your pants, whether you're a boy or a girl. Spain was brought into the classroom after several students reported unlawful contact and attempted rape, since Spain is one of France's close friends and would keep him under control. Don't even try to keep France happy, the pedophile—__OMG, Iggy, not so graphic! __To keep Spain happy is very simple; be kind to him, and give him tomatoes. You see? Very simple. __Also if you want to keep Spain happy arrange for him to meet South Italy somewhere. He's _obsessed. 

_Art: This is taught by Japan. Avoid close contact with Japan, since he is not comfortable with hugging or hand holding. Japan is a very fair teacher, though he won't express his own opinions unless truly asked, or yelled at. Don't argue in Japan's presence, because no matter how much of a pushover he is, he will use _force _if necessary. __Yeah, he'll take you out with his bad ass ninja skillz. __I recommend you don't talk to Japan about economy or anything remotely related to money. __Why? __One last thing it would be wise to mention: Japan is also 'obsessed' with cosplaying and pairing, especially gay ones. If you'd like to go the extra mile to please Japan, offer to pose for one of his shoots (specify 'nothing graphic'). __Wow, I didn't know Japan was into that kind of stuff! Wonder why?_

_**Clubs: **_

_Written by Germany_

_Edited by Prussia_

_This section is about the many clubs that World Academy has to offer. __Sharp, blunt and to the point! That's my West! Quit being so uptight and relax a little! Like my awesomeness!_

_Languages: Languages isn't a club; however it is an extra-curricular activity outside of normal classes. You have a choice between many different languages, such as: Russian, taught by Russia, Spanish, taught by Spain, Italian, taught by North Italy, French, taught by Canada (__Due to past rape attempts we switched France for little Canada!__), English, taught by England, Chinese, taught by China, Japanese, taught by Japan, Arabic, taught by America (__W-Wait, the kid can speak two languages? What's up with that? (__**A/N Prussia, it's because America was on many covert operations in the middle east, and he kind of had to adapt!)**__) and a multitude of different languages, such as Tagalong, Danish, Dutch, Finnish, Estonian, Greek, Hebrew, Hungarian, Icelandic, Irish, Korean, Latin, Latvian, Lithuanian, Norwegian, Persian, Polish, Swedish, Thai, Turkish, Ukrainian, Vietnamese, and Yiddish. Consult either one of the persons in charge of teaching you the language, or consult England. _

_Multicultural: Instead of learning another country's language, here you learn about other cultures. This club is very well funded, so it tends to be the most popular during the year. They bring in speakers, native persons and others of the sort. This club is led by Ukraine._

_Sports: There are sports clubs here (__Not taught by the brutal West!__) that many students take advantage of; such as football, American football, baseball, softball, swimming, la Crosse, basketball, croquet, golf, and other various sports. Speak to me, Germany, if you wish to join or have questions about a sport not mentioned. _

_Cooking: This club is led by North Italy and South Italy. It is where you learn to cook. __Geez, West seems pretty stiff around little Italy. I guess there's not much to say about cooking club, but he's still a little short. Germany likes Italy! Germany likes Italy!_

_Photography/Art: This club is led by Hungary and Japan, combining the club because of similar purposes. In this club you learn the proper 'lighting' and 'angle' for taking pictures, as well as learn how to draw still portraits correctly. Most members are invited in, because Hungary and Japan don't just accept the selfish person off the street. They expect you to work in the club, and take part. There is a 'second level' in the club, for fans of gay pairings like Hungary and Japan (__? WHAAAAAAT?). __In this 'level' of the club, you learn to 'stalk' your favorite pairings and basically play matchmaker.__ You see? He's all loose when writing about Japan and Hungary, but as soon as Italy comes up—__**Prussia, I don't need you commenting on my love life! **_

_There are a variety of smaller clubs, which are posted on the board in the dorms._

_**Behavior**_

_Written by China_

_Edited by Korea_

_Behavior during class and in hallways are as follows:_

_You may chew gum during class, but it must not be seen or heard. Bottom line—don't let us catch you do it. __Gum was invented in Korea!_

_Do not start fights physically. Then we will have to send you to nurse Finland and waste time out of our perfectly fine day. Fight verbally; the mind is a much better weapon than your fists. __Mind weapons and fist fighting was invented in Korea!_

_No sleeping in class. Pay attention. __Sleeping was invented in Korea!_

_Do not damage school property, as you will have to pay for it double. We will not by having you waste our hard earned money! __School property and hard earned money was invented in Korea!_

_Do not bring any weapons to class; including guns, swords, spears, lances, maces, nunchuks, woks, bow and arrows, bombs, or anything that could cause harm. __Weapons were invented in—__**WOULD YOU SHUT UP, GODDAMMIT!**_

_No blatant disrespect towards teachers or other classmates. Respect us and your classmates or you'll be punished. __Blatant disrespect was—__**ROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAR! **__Ah! Aniki's mad at me! _

_**Punishment**_

_Written by Japan_

_Edited by Greece_

_For first degree punishments, you will have the delight in choosing a nations punishment 'weapon'. Most likely you will choose the one most painless. __You will choose Japan's, because Japan is really soft and kind…zzz…_

_For second degree punishments, you will be subjected to 1 hour of detention and another nation punishment weapon. __Detention's not so bad…you get to sleep…zzz…_

_For third degree punishments, you will be subjected to 2 hours of detention, and a torture of your choice (including Chinese water torture, Japan and Hungary's 'Otaku' torture, etc…) _

_For fourth degree punishments, you will be suspended and have one torture and one weapon. _

_You're expelled. __Scary…zzz…_

_**Principal's last word**_

_So as you can see, World Academy is open to any student and we will have no prejudices against you! Enjoy your year in World Academy!_

_Note: We are not responsible for any lost items, body parts, or sanity. We are also not responsible for any torture or mutilations that may or may not have occurred on school grounds. If any torture/mutilations were to occur, please notify us and we will do our best to reprimand the culprit. However we will not pay for hospital bills, and we will not pay for any lost items either. If any teacher is responsible for the mutilations, we will make sure they give you something to compensate. Thank you and have a nice day. _

Slovenia twitched as he stared at the memo, eyebrow twitching spastically. "You have got to be kidding me…"

As Slovenia's brother, Croatia, spat a spitball at Greece, effectively waking him up (and pissing him off), the little country just knew he was going to be in for a heck of a year.

**Hm...Slovenia's my OC. Need I say any more?**

**IceEckos12**


	20. Prisoner

**Hehe. Romance. **

**Disclaimer: I no own APH.**

One thing that Ludwig knew—you were _not _supposed to fall in love with the prisoners. The prisoners were supposed to get bored, start talking to the tight-lipped cold guard, and the guard would ignore him for a few days before slowly opening up. Then, the prisoner would start asking more personal questions, and the guard would ask personal questions, and then the guard would help the prisoner escape at the last minute before the prisoner got killed. Then, the guard would get caught and nearly killed, and the prisoner would come back and rescue the guard before he got tortured to death. Prisoner would get pardoned, and then they would live happily ever after. End of story. At least…that was what it said in all the books, but Gilbert had always insisted that books were bullshit.

Maybe he was right.

As soon as the guards had shoved the skinny little brown-haired Italian into the cell, Ludwig had felt his cheeks heating and his heart thumping painfully in his chest. Just one sight of the amber eyes made his tongue tie and his knees turn to jelly. At first, Ludwig had been a little confused—after all, it'd never happened before. But then he'd made the mistake of talking to Gilbert, or perhaps it was the right thing to do? Anyway, Gilbert (after laughing for about ten minutes) had finally told him that he was in love—such a foreign, strange concept that Ludwig hadn't even considered before. Gilbert had laughed even harder—and longer—when he realized that Ludwig had fallen in love _with the frickin' prisoner!_

So Ludwig was standing outside the cell, at least three guns on his entire body, working up the courage to talk to the beautiful amber-eyed prisoner.

"Uh…Hallo." He started, shifting uncomfortably when the amber eyes snapped onto him. "Entschuldigung." He muttered, looking back down.

"Why apologize?" Ludwig was startled when he heard the little Italian speak English—albeit weakly, but still audible. The man squeaked and huddled deeper into the corner when Ludwig's cold blue eyes found his warm, amber ones. _Mein Gott, I love his eyes. _Ludwig thought, unintentionally staring.

"Scusa, scusa, scusa, scusa, scusa, scusa!" The Italian squeaked, seeming to huddle deeper, deeper into himself, as though Ludwig would hurt him. He probably thought Ludwig _would _hurt him, judging by the way he was acting and the way he was dragged out of the cell every day at 4 o'clock for 'interrogation'.

"No, I didn't mean—" Ludwig sighed and rubbed his forehead. "There's nothing to apologize for, _wenig Italienisch_."

"Feliciano." Ludwig's head whipped up. "My name is Feliciano."

* * *

><p>Ludwig came to the Feliciano's cell to the sound of sobs, accompanied by the soft whimper every once and a while. He glanced into the cell quizzically, trying to see what was going on, trying to figure out what was happening to his dear little Feliciano. "Feli…?" He asked, trying to see through the darkness. Ludwig nearly blushed at the nickname; Feliciano had told him to call him 'Feli' almost three days after they'd first met.<p>

Glancing around to make sure no one was there, Ludwig quietly opened the cell up and slipped inside. There was no way Feliciano was going anywhere, not by the sounds he was making. Inching closer to Feliciano's corner, he noted how thin the Italian was and grimaced.

"Feli? Feliciano, what's wrong?"

The only reply was a whimper, and then Feliciano dragged himself into the light.

Ludwig had to resist the urge to puke—the poor boy was dressed in rags, and whatever skin he could see was covered in cuts, bruises, burns, and other strange markings. He was thin, much too thin, and looked like he would break at a touch. There were more scars on Feliciano's body than he had gotten in his entire _life. _His left leg was obviously broken, and had been broken several times in many different places. The same had happened for his right arm, and his face was half covered in horrible burns, and for an awful moment Ludwig realized that one of his beautiful amber eyes was gone. Gone, gone, _gone, gone, gone…_ He barely noticed when Feliciano threw his broken body into Ludwig's arms, sobbing, just wanting the human contact—well, the good kind of physical contact— he'd been starved of for so long. Ludwig was still reeling over the fact that one of Feli's beautiful amber eyes was gone.

_Gone._

"What do they want so badly?" Ludwig found himself asking, wanting to find a good reason for this inhumane torture.

"M-My _nonno_ is the h-head of the I-I-Italian resistance." Feliciano sobbed, holding onto the guard's uniform weakly. "He told me things, important things, and…they want what's in my head. I want to give up! But I can't!"

Ludwig pulled the boy in closer, trying to comfort him. "Sh, sh. It…It will be fine." Then, a glimmer of an idea entered his mind. "I'll get you out of here." Ludwig said quietly, heart breaking when he saw just one beautiful amber eye looking up at him. "I promise."

* * *

><p>"I swear! He's stronger than that. If you let him stay with me, it will loosen his tongue. I will keep watch over him, I swear! He may be mentally strong, but physically he's quite weak."<p>

"…"

"Please, sir, you're not going to go anywhere if you keep torturing him."

"…Alright, soldier. But only because I trust you."

"Danke, sir."

* * *

><p>Ludwig carried his little Italian into his house and set him on the couch before turning to close the door. Glancing over to see a peaceful expression on his broken face, Ludwig walked over and placed a gentle hand on Feliciano's scarred cheek.<p>

The amber eye fluttered open. "Wha…?"

"Sh, you're in my house. You'll be safe now."

Feliciano stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, before letting out a soft cry and leaping for Ludwig, catching him in an awkward hug (Feliciano's whole body was wrapped in a cast). " спасибо!" Feliciano cried, burying his head in Ludwig's strong chest.

"Just keeping my promise." Ludwig muttered gruffly, and was extremely startled when the Italian leapt up and kissed him. Turning extremely red in the face, Ludwig looked into Feliciano's one beautiful amber eye and kissed him back.

**Hehehehehe. Romance. What a funny thing. **

**So this is set in the Second World War, and Feliciano's grandfather is the head of the Italian resistance. Feli got caught and was interrogated because he knew some important stuff, and the guard Ludwig manages to get him out. **

**Use your imagination to know what comes next. **

**German**

**Hallo-Hello**

**Entschuldigung-Sorry **

**Mein Gott: My God**

**Wenig Italienisch: Little Italian**

**Danke: Thank you**

**Italian**

**Scusa: Sorry**

**Nonno: Grandfather**

**Grazie: Thank you**

**Other**

**Arigato: Thank you**

**Спасибо: Thank you**

**These are all rough translations from Google translate. Tell me if I'm wrong, because I don't want to screw up anyone else's language. **


	21. Invading! Not?

**Disclaimer: Я не являюсь владельцем APH.**

_June 10__th__, 1962_

"Hm, hm-hm…" America hummed happily and slurped his coffee, filled to the brim with sweet whipped cream and the bitter caffeinated liquid he was so fond of. His bright blue eyes flew over his newspaper, skimming but not really looking at anything. These days it was probably about the 'Beatles' and other stuff like that, since England's band had roaring business in America. He himself liked the Beatles, but he would never, _ever _tell England about that. The old man would probably make fun of him mercilessly.

He flipped another page, and looked for key words. 'Roaring'…'British invasion'…

Wait. What?

America nearly spit out his coffee, and stared at the words, 'British invasion' incredulously. England wasn't that stupid to attack him…was he? Had the Brit finally lost it?

There was only one person to ask.

America folded his newspaper purposefully and tipped his chair back, where it landed with a _ka-thunk! _Then, he strode out of the room.

* * *

><p>England sipped his tea happily, feeling quite pleased with himself. Somehow he had managed to get under America's nose into the country—just to surprise him! Oh, America would be in for it now! Now he would be the one shocked into screaming like a little girl!<p>

He glanced at an article in the newspaper about the 'British invasion'. Personally England didn't like the name, but Americans always overreacted about everything, of course. He laughed slightly at one of the comments in the newspaper. Some of these Americans _were _rather clever, he did have to admit.

He nearly spit out his tea when he heard someone slamming fists against the door, and a familiar voice calling out. "Iggy! Iggy! England! ENGLAAAAAND!" _How did he know I was here…? _England wondered, staring at the door in shock. He'd made sure to keep his arrival a complete secret!

And that was when the door broke down.

"ENGLAAAAAAAND!" America shouted, his voice quavering between anger and sadness. "I thought we were frieeeends!"

England stared at the American. "What on earth are you talking about? We _are_ friends! And how did you know I was here?"

"I put a tracker on you a few years ago." America said dismissively. England paled. "And it says right here in the newspaper! The _British invasion!_"

England's mouth dropped slightly, and he looked back down at the paper, 'The British Invasion' blazed in bold letters at the top, then back up at America. And repeated this several times. Then his hand found his head, and he rubbed his pale fingertips through his hair. _Of course America would interpret it like that…_ England groaned. _And he didn't even bother to look through the article…what a git! _

"America…you know who the Beatles are, right?"

He tilted his head curiously. "Yeah, of course, but what does that have to do with anything…?"

England smiled behind his hand. Ah, he knew the Beatles. This would be so much simpler.

"You see, in your country a lot of people are getting into English bands, music, and the sort. They are calling it the 'British invasion' precisely for the reason that British culture is becoming so popular in your country. Do you understand now?"

America suddenly looked doubtful. "So…you're…_not _invading me?"

England restrained a sigh of agitation. "Yes America, I'm _not _invading you."

"The reason they're saying British invasion…is because you're so popular in my country?"

He could not help sounding exasperated. "I don't understand what is so difficult about this! No, I'm not invading you!"

America looked thoughtful (as though the subject really needed any thought) and began muttering to himself. Maybe being a country was beginning to eat away at his mind and he was finally going insane, and England toyed with the idea. It was possible, because almost every nation had a few problems; just look at Russia.

Finally America spoke up. "So…you're really that…popular in my country?" Now England was feeling a bit guarded.

"It's not called the bloody British invasion for nothing!"

America smiled, and to England's intense surprise he leapt forward and wrapped his arms around the older country's waist. "AMERICAN INVASION!" He shrieked.

England forced himself not to smile as he tried to fight America off of him. America was such a child sometimes.

But wait. What did that have to do with anything?

**Um...sucky ending? Oh well. Anyway, I was on vacation for a bit, so that was why I wasn't updating. Sorry. **

**This is a request for...(Runs over to check) cross-over-lover232. I hope this is satisfying ^^.**

**IceEckos12**


	22. Reading the Atmosphere

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. Don't worry, though. As soon as I complete my evil diabolical plan to take over the world I will. **

None of the other countries knew it, but America and Italy were actually very close friends. Not romantically involved; America had Russia stalking him and England, well…Italy had Germany, too. So no romantic involvement.

It was purely friendship, even camaraderie, which even held out during the world wars when they were pitted against each other.

The friendship had sprung up one day by _accident. _

America had been in the library in Italy, looking through some old texts, when Italy himself had bounded through the doors and began checking through the same section.

He'd awkwardly cleared his throat; he honestly didn't know Italy that well, but always thought that the kid was a bit off his rocker. Like Russia, only less…well, Russia-ish.

"Oh, veh! Hello America!" Italy chirped in his light voice, skimming a scroll with his delicate olive fingers. "What brings you here?"

America tapped his chin, staring at the almost indecipherable Italian jargon spattered all over the scroll he was currently reading, and sighed. Sure, he was fluent in Italian (He'd done a bit of spying in Italy and had been forced to learn the language) but it wasn't his first language; therefore, the older style that they wrote in might as well have been in Georgian (which was utter gibberish to him). "Well, I'm looking up something that England told me about, but so far I'm not getting much success…"

Italy nodded, brow furrowing in frustration. To be honest, Italy didn't really know America that well; in fact, in the world wars he'd avoided America like he had the black plague. From what he heard, he understood that America was loud and annoying, immature, and there was talk of America even being a slut. However Italy had been taught not to judge on rumors, so he kept his mind open and clear and tried to be as friendly as he could. Which wasn't so hard, actually. "What are you looking for?"

America scratched his golden locks and sighed again. "He mentioned 'Reading the Atmosphere' or something." He turned his hopeful blue eyes on Italy. "Would _you _know anything?"

Italy's mouth opened wide in surprise. "Wah…That's what I'm looking for too!"

America looked shocked for a second, before he grinned widely and leaned back slightly. "Wow! That's great! How about you help me look?"

Italy smiled back, and nodded his head, his brown-colored curl bouncing with his movement.

* * *

><p>"Hey, dude, what's with the curl?"<p>

Italy looked up absently from the book he was reading (an old Celtic text) and blinked. "Ve?"

America, having been around Italy for a few years, easily recognized the grunt as a, "What?" and plunged on. "The brown curl, right there." America leaned in a little and nearly poked the curl, making Italy lean back and blush, muttering something about, "Just friends".

"It's, um…" Italy blushed a little deeper red, gesturing America closer to listen. "_It'smyerogenouszone."_

America leaned back and blushed a little (though not as much as Italy himself). "Ah, don't be embarrassed." He said softly. "My hair is one two, see?" He flicked the cowlick on his forehead. "This here."

Italy smiled a wide smile, and tilted his head cutely. They had found another thing in common, besides looking for the strange book, "Reading the Atmosphere!"

* * *

><p>When Italy showed up in the library that day, America he knew immediately that something was wrong.<p>

The Italian had red eyes, and occasionally he sniffed loudly, sometimes having to turn away so he wouldn't get his streaming nose on the old book. His eyes had deep black rings around them, and he looked much paler than normal.

America eyed him out of the corner of his eye, while Italy turned another page with his hand trembling wildly. Another sniffle, another blink, the page turned again, and finally America could take it no longer. He gently closed the book he was looking at, and slowly got up from his chair, closing the distance between the two of them and stopping in front of the upset Italian. It only took a moment for Italy to notice that America was standing there, and he looked up with teary amber eyes.

"What's wrong, Italy?"

That was all it took for Italy to burst into tears.

"I'm so sorry, it's all my fault, they attacked him, and it's all my fault, they're trying to get at me, I swear, and—"

But America was already out the door.

_Months later, troops were sent to Germany to help with the army they were currently losing against. Strangely enough, the action only seemed to make relations with _Italy _stronger, not Germany himself. _

* * *

><p>"America?" Italy asked, staring at the American who was currently watching him through glazed, fevered blue eyes.<p>

The eyes slowly traveled to the book in his lap (the page hadn't turned for about an hour) and then back up to Italy, before going to the floor. "'M fine, Italy. Don't worry 'bout me. Keep reading."

The words came out slurred and foggy, which only made Italy worry more.

"America, you're sick! You should be resting!"

For a moment it looked like he was going to argue, but then he closed his mouth as though he were too tired and sighed. "'Lright." America muttered, staggering up from the chair and following Italy (weaving all the while) out the door.

_America stayed in bed for the next few months, and Italy insisted on taking care of him. For months Italy would stay by his bedside, force-feeding him delicious soups and taking care of his every need. _

* * *

><p>"Anything, Ita?" America asked, only to receive a disappointed sigh.<p>

"_No, _it seems we'll find nothing here."

"Ah, well. I found this lead in Greece, actually, so…"

_After a while, it stopped being just 'reading the atmosphere'. After a while, it became something more, like…they were just doing for the sake of the search, for the sake of going everywhere with each other, finding other leads. Eventually, it wasn't about what they were _going _to find; it was what happened along the way. They people they met, the things they did, the sights they say, all of it. So far, they haven't found 'Reading the Atmosphere'. Actually, they aren't even close. _

_But they could care less. As long as they have each other. _

_If they didn't have each other, they would've given up years ago. _

**I got this idea from Hetaquest, where America and Italy are looking for 'Reading the Atmosphere'. I just think this relationship would be sooooo cute! **

**Anyway, I'm writing this at 11 o'clock at night, which was probably why I'm acting all fan-girly. Also why I probably have a billion mistakes in here right now. Ignore them, or tell me about them, please. **

**IceEckos12**


	23. FACE Family Dinner

**Please don't ask. **

**Disclaimer: No.**

"IGGY!"

"What—bloody hell, America!"

"Don't be so enthusiastic_. _Honhonhonhon…"

"Uh, hi Al…"

"MATTIE!"

"Ah! Al…can't…breathe…"

"Brotherly love is wonderful, is it not, _mon cher?" _

"Shut up, frog."

"Please…get…o-off…*wheeze*."

"Oops! Sorry, bro!"

"How I deal with you, I'll never know."

"Ah, you know you love me, Iggy! Say France, when's dinner?"

"Be patient, _Amerique. _It will be ready in due time."

"Oh, okay. So, what do you guys want to do while we're waiting?"

"Well, honhonhonhonhon…"

"B-Bloody frog! Stay away from me!"

"Hey, Mattie, why don't we play some football?"

"A-Ah…I'd rather not…"

"Oh. How 'bout baseball?"

"GET YOUR HAND OFF MY ARSE!"

"Now, now, _mon cher, _don't shoot me—don't point that there!"

"How about we…watch a movie?"

"That sounds great, Mattie! I brought the perfect movie over…"

"America, if this is another one of your horror movies, I swear I'll—"

"Don't worry, it's not too scary! Just the Silence of the Lambs!"

"HELL NO!"

"What?"

"I don't want you clinging to me or your brother five minutes in!"

"But…But…Iggy! You never let me do anything!"

"I-I agree with England."

"Not you, too, Canada!"

"Al, I—"

"Hey, I know! We could play video games!"

"Al, you always cheat at those…"

"Most certainly not, America! I refuse to sit down and play some of your mind numbing games—"

"I have Cooking Mama…"

"Wh-What does that have to do with anything?"

"And I know you _love _to cook…"

"A-Alright."

"_Amerique_, your room is a mess."

"Oh, gross, what am I stepping on?"

"I think that's the pizza from last month…"

"Ergh!"

"Or was it two years…?"

"Get me out of here! This is so unsanitary!"

"Do you want to play cooking mama or not?"

"Yes, but—"

"See, look? The mess is gone."

"You didn't have to toss it out the _bloody window!"_

"Al, what if you hit someone?"

"Don't worry, Mattie, I'm sure it hit nobody—"

"Scheiße! WHO HIT ME WITH THIS OLD STINKY PIZZA? SO NOT AWESOME!"

"Holy shit! When did Prussia get here? Hide!"

"!"

"…I think he's gone."

"America how stupid can you get?"

"Almost as stupid as you, _mon cher." _

"Hey!"

"Al, what games are we going to play?"

"LEFT 4 DEAD!"

"Stop shouting!"

"Like you're one to talk."

"Arguing like an old married couple."

"Shut up, frog!"

"Al, the game's in…"

"Oooooooo! I call being a survivor! Me an' Mattie can be survivors, right bro?"

"America, that would be 'Mattie and I'."

"Stupid grammar nazi."

"E-Ex_cuse _me?"

"I'll be a survivor, Al…"

"Great! You and France can be the infected!"

"It's—oh, never mind…My god, what a vulgar game."

"You're just mad because we're kicking your asses."

"_Mathieu, _I never knew you we so proficient with a machine gun."

"Heheh…"

"Hey, is it just me or is something burning?"

"_Sacre bleu! _The dinner!"

"What? Dinner's burning?"

"And he calls me a terrible cook!"

"That's 'cuz you _are _a terrible cook."

"Bloody wanker."

"Old man."

"Bugger off."

"Um…what?"

"Oh. I suppose that isn't in your pathetic excuse for the English language. If you must know, it means 'fu—"

"DINNER IS READY!"

"Yay! Dinner!"

"…Why do I even bother?"

"FRANCE! So dinner isn't burned?"

"Just a little, but it was only the dessert."

"W-What? That's even _worse!" _

"America—"

"No dessert! MUTINY!"

"_Amerique, _calm down! It is a simple matter to make another one!"

"Oh."

"You're crazy."

"No I'm not!"

"Yes, you're absolutely bonkers."

"I'm sorry, Al, you really are crazy."

"Yeah… well…it runs in the family!"

**Too true. **

**That is all I have to say.**

**IceEckos12**


	24. Children

**Disclaimer: I'm running out of ideas for this disclaimer thingy. No own APH.**

Sometimes it was so easy to forget that America and Canada were just children.

America acted like a child most of the time, but he was a super-power and perfectly capable of taking care of himself. When England was America's age, he'd still been a little boy, toddling after his big-brother France in admiration. Not America; he'd declared his independence after two hundred years of peaceful rule and then had rose up to be one of the most powerful country in the world. England almost never thought of America as a child—more like Italy, who acted so green but was actually centuries older than a lot of countries.

Canada was so responsible and polite, always in line and never causing any trouble during or after meetings. He never went drinking, he never yelled, he never did anything to make anyone else angry. He was the perfect role model; someone England had truly hoped would rub off on the other, less…rowdy countries. While America, his stupid and rash brother had started a war, Canada had politely asked for his independence (and England had given it to him). None of the other countries ever said he had the mind of a child, and no one thought twice about it. Canada wasn't considered a child.

Some days, though, England was reminded of just how young they were.

_England didn't bother to knock as he walked into America and Canada's home; after all, he couldn't count how many times the idiot had just barged into his house. _

_He placed his box of tea on the counter and shrugged off his duffel bag, smiling softly at the familiar kitchen. England wondered if the boys were up; it was three o'clock in the morning where they were. Slowly England walked down the hall, looking in the doors to see where they might be. Finally he stopped at the door at the end of the hall, and quietly turned the knob and pushed it open. _

_Light seeped into the room, and it was just enough light for England to see two lumps on the bed, obviously asleep. Smiling slightly at the sight, he walked over towards the sleeping boys—and was startled by what he saw. _

_The brothers were hugging in their sleep; clinging to each other like a lifeline. Matthew had red, puffy eyes, showing that he'd been crying, and America's mouth was set in a firm line, almost like a defiant child. _

_England was struck by how _young _they seemed; so small, so confused in the game of giants. _When did they get so big…? _England wondered, shaking his head. _

_How did they deal with it? After all, they were two children thrust into the malicious game of the adults. They should still be laughing and playing video games every day, not worrying about the economy or trying to prevent terrorist attacks. So young and so powerful…had no one asked themselves what the North American brothers wanted? Had no one wondered, are the boys alright with this?_

_America; belittled and made fun of for who he was. _

_Matthew; ignored and pushed away for being who _he _was. _

_How could they have missed that? How could they have forgotten that they still had the minds of children? _

England's memories of before the North Americans were slightly fuzzy, almost like the boys had always been there.

And now he was reminded that they weren't.

**Okay, so I was thinking about all the countries one day, and realized that the America's are a lot younger than the other countries. I've never really thought about it before, so...Here. Can you imagine what it would be like? You know, being a kid and being a country? **

**I couldn't do it. **

**IceEckos12**


	25. I Need You!

**Disclaimer: [Insert witty disclaimer here]**

"So, Toni, how're the shoots going?"

Antonio groaned and slammed his head down onto the table. "Please don't ask, Gil...it's going terrible!"

Gilbert and Francis shared a worried glance, before the latter gently approached with the question, "What is so bad about it?"

Antonio let out a soft whimper.

"Come one, Toni, tell us. Whining about it isn't going to help."

"Aaah, I can't find any decent models!" The Spaniard whined. "The last one quit the other day!"

"What about that American kid? Al what's-his-face?" Gilbert looked at Francis, as though he knew the answer.

"I have to share Alfred with Arthur." He pouted.

"Arthur is such an old man." Francis sighed, putting the wine glass to his lips.

"If I don't find someone else soon…" Antonio continued, raising his head up. "I'll have to stop the shooting entirely!"

The three sighed.

"I need someone young and exotic; I need someone fresh, and new; I need someone like…" Antonio squinted his eyes, deep in thought. "I need someone like…"

It was at that moment the waiter came up to their table and asked, "Are you guys ready to order or what?"

Antonio, distracted, only spared the waiter a second glass before sipping on the water he had—and promptly spat it out. While Francis and Gilbert asked what was wrong, Antonio turned with wide eyes towards the poor guy who'd chosen to wait on their table.

"I need someone like _you!" _He said excitedly.

The waiter, a short, brown-haired boy with hazel-green eyes and olive skin, stared at Antonio like he was insane. "Um…what?" He asked intelligently.

"You! I need you! Look at your flawless skin! Your beautiful eyes! _Mi dios, _you're perfect!"

Now, this poor, poor waiter had no _idea _what they were talking about, and for all he knew the Spaniard wanted him for a brothel or something of the sort. He was _supremely _freaked out, and slowly back away from the excited customer. "Feli?" He called. "Feli, we've got a psychopath on our hands! BROTHER!"

And then, another little waiter who was just as beautiful and _perfect _as his brother rushed over, only he was more angelic than the other Italian. "Ve! Lovi, what's the matter?"

Antonio just about died of happiness. "You two must be models in my photo shoots!"

Lovino back away, arms splayed out as though he could protect his brother from the man. "Hell no, you creep! C'mon, Feli, let's get out of here! Fucking pedo!"

"Ve! Lovi, what did the boss say about swearing at customers?" Feliciano scolded, even while they were both back away. Then, they turned to run—

And Spain tackled Lovino's legs from behind, knocking him over and stopping his getaway.

Feliciano turned to his brother and cried out, "Lovi!"

Lovino got up on his elbow's and shouted, "Run, you idiot! Go!"

"I'm not leaving without you!" He shook his head wildly, little tears springing up from the corner of his eyes.

"Forget about heroics! Just go!"

"Fusososososo~ I'm not letting you get away…" Antonio suddenly spoke up, getting two terrified looks from the poor Italian twins.

"You think we should stop him?" Gilbert asked, watching the Spaniard latch onto Lovino and said boy try to kick him off.

Francis shrugged and sipped some more wine.

**I was looking through this and suddenly realized I didn't have anything with Spain or Romano in the oneshots.**

**This was the result. **

**IceEckos12**

**P.S. I know nothing about modeling. Hopefully this isn't offending any people who do photo shoots with my scant knowledge. **


	26. Facade

**HEYZ! Disclaimer: No.**

"Brother…"

"Yeah?"

"We're martyrs…aren't we." It wasn't a question.

Blue met violet. "Yeah…yeah we are."

* * *

><p>It was a normal day in the World Meeting.<p>

France was groping people, England was yelling at France groping people, China was telling England to stop yelling at France to stop groping people, and Russia was giggling at China telling England to stop yelling at France to stop groping people.

All in all, a completely normal day.

Until the door crashed open.

The other countries jumped in shock, looking around wildly for whatever had shocked them so much. At first they thought it was America; with him and his monstrous strength he sometimes ended up actually breaking down the door on accident. Then, they were immediately confused by the sight of Canada, foot still raised up, as though he himself had just kicked down the door—but that was impossible, right? Little Canada would never, ever kick down the door, right?

They were even more shocked by the sight of his Southern brother standing right behind him, both wearing fancy black suits. While Canada had a feral smile on his face, looking slightly like a tiger waiting to pounce, America's face was devoid of any emotion, giving him an oddly cold, blank look.

"A-Alfred, what is the meaning of this?" England demanded, standing from his seat and watching as the brothers walked into the room, Canada walking like he was tensing for a fight.

"It has come to my attention that our meetings are getting nowhere." America said, his voice as cold and devoid of emotion as his face. "Therefore it is vital for the rest of the world that we take matters into our own hands."

The other countries stared blankly at the two nations, before a small bark of laughter rose up—and sparked a wave of amusement in the others, some chuckling, some letting out small snorts of amusement and some just letting loose with their strange laughter. All through this, America and Canada remained silent and unmoving, though Canada looked like he wanted to strangle someone.

"I'm sorry. Did I say something amuse you?" America asked as the cacophony of laughter died down.

"Oh yes. Let a fat idiot like you take over the meetings? _Honhonhonhon!_ How foolish of you!" France answered, his rose appearing in his hand.

To their surprise, it was not America who responded, but Canada. The boy tensed, his eyes flashing with barely suppressed rage, and his lips twisted into an awful sneer, and for a moment the other countries saw a deeper, evil thing rear its head, and for a moment the countries felt fear so deep and powerful that they hadn't felt in hundreds of years. And then it was gone, but the fear lingered. _Had that just happened, or was it imagination?_

"Brother, can I kill them, please?" His voice, once so shy and calm, growled in a low, snarly voice.

"No, Mattie, we kill them _after _they try and kill us." America said patiently—a reaction that was greeted with some strange looks. _Was he serious, or just sarcastic?_

Canada let out another low growl.

"You think you can kill us? Back down, foolish one, before you get hurt." Russia said softly, staring at the brothers with childish purple eyes.

America simply tilted his head, before Canada appeared right in front of the older nation, crouched like a cat. Russia only had time to widen his eyes before a foot came and smashed into his chest, throwing him back with such force he slammed into the wall. The other countries watched with a stunned silence; they hadn't seen Canada _move. _What was going on?

"Maybe this will prove we are serious." America drawled in a lazy voice, a light amusement coloring his voice as the other countries turned to the nation in fear.

"What do you want, aru?" China asked, hesitantly. He was a very old nation, who had known many countries; he'd seen many things, and done many things that he was proud of—and not so proud of. However, this was the first time he'd seen something like this; a nation hiding his true nature? Preposterous. Nations kept thoughts from other nations; nations deceived and tricked and meddled, but not on such a large scale as _this. _

"I see you are all confused. Perhaps I should explain." America started, ignoring China's question completely.

"It started when I first came to this place…

_America nibbled his lip, standing outside the door of the meeting apprehensively._

_This was his first meeting—what would the other countries think of him? Would they be angry that he'd defeated England? Or perhaps the opposite? _

_He took a deep breath and pushed inside, looking back and forth to see who was there. _

"_Ah, _Amerique! _I didn't expect you!" A cheerful voice said, and America quickly glanced up to see his ally France. _

"_H-Hello France." America greeted, voice cracking with nerves. _

"_Come in—we're just about to start."_

_America was grateful of the arm pushing him along—now at least he wasn't alone. Ignoring the stare of two purple eyes, and the glare of two green eyes he sat down and gulped. If only his brother was here; Mattie made everything so much clearer…_

_France cleared his throat and smiled widely at the people in the room. "Alright, everyone, I'd like to introduce our newest member—"_

"_No one cares, frog." England growled, looking away. _

"_Oh, mon chere, so kind as usual…"_

"_Shut up, the both of you!" The arguing countries jerked, looking towards a tall blonde man with slicked hair sitting next to a small brown haired boy and a silver haired boy with odd red eyes. "Does anyone have any ideas?" _

_America blushed, fingered his briefcase, looked down, and managed to stutter out, "U-Um, I-I have something that m-might work…" _

_Germany frowned and crossed his arms. "No offense, but you're a little young and inexperienced to be speaking during the meetings. When you're older." _

"After that, everyone refused to listen to my ideas, because England was holding a grudge."

England blinked when he suddenly remembered earlier meetings, when America had tried to speak up but had been ignored or yelled at by his former mother country. _Um, oops. _

"I was forced to take more drastic measures. I made my ideas more outlandish and impossible to ignore; I was trying to goad you. You all have terrible competitive spirits, so I thought that you might try and come up with a better idea than mine. Clearly I was a fool." He took a deep breath. "Now, I am forced to do whatever it takes to fix this."

Germany was the first to move. "What do you propose?"

England felt a flutter of surprise when something akin to _regret _sprouted in America's eyes. Was this just an act as well? What was real?

Now that he thought about it, Canada had had the exact same look after he'd kicked Russia.

Did America and Canada actually think that this was necessary to get anything done? What was trying to be accomplished?

_What was real?_

**...**

**...**

**I really dont' know what's up with this one. Please forgive the strangeness. **

**I just got back from vacation-that's why I wasn't updating. **

**Okay. **

**IceEckos12**


	27. SMUG K

**Disclaimer: This is very, very dark. I've had this idea for a while, though.**

Officer Kirkland covered the lower part of his face with his hand, wrinkling his nose in disgust. _Ugh, what is that smell? _He muttered in his head. _It smells like…something died. _Pushing his sleeve closer to his poor, abused nose, he braced himself before taking a step down the first step, flashlight clutched in his other hand.

Though he couldn't smell the stench anymore, he could feel the weight of its reek pressing in every breath he took through his mouth. What could _make _this kind of smell? Even a skunk wasn't this bad.

As he walked down the stairs, the darkness closed in around him, making him feel a little claustrophobic. _I thought I shook off this fear when I became a policeman. _

When he reached the bottom step, he swept the basement floor with his flashlight, checking to make sure that nothing was there. At first he was certain that it was empty; but something in the corner caught his eye. Slowly he approached whatever it was, trying to be as intimidating as possible just in case it was an animal.

There was a pained whimper, and the Officer straightened up immediately. That didn't sound like an animal…

"Hello?" He called cautiously. "Is anyone there?"

Officer Kirkland, or Arthur, didn't truly see it for what it was until he was standing right in front of it, flashlight shining right down. His green eyes traveled in horror over the figure, and then…shocked emerald met tormented blue.

* * *

><p>"Hello, everyone. Today, we're getting two new kids, so be very kind to them."<p>

Most of the kids in the circle groaned.

"Not another one!" A small boy with black hair and gold eyes said, rolling his eyes.

"Now, now, Yao." Elizaveta said, frowning. "We will welcome them and be nice about it. They're just as damaged as the rest of you."

"That's exactly what we're afraid of." Another boy with black hair and blank eyes said politely, sitting seiza.

Elizaveta breathed deeply, looking as though she were trying hard not to explode, before forcing a pained smile. "Kiku, please. They—"

"Miss Hedervary, they're here." A British voice growled, making the other occupants of the room jump.

"Send them in." Elizaveta murmured, schooling her features.

There was a long, long silence, before a shuffling noise was heard. The other occupants of the room craned their heads to see just who was coming—and were stunned by what they saw.

A little blond-haired boy was shuffling through the room towards their circle, blue eyes wide and wary of everything. He was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, though they were very loose around his pale, emancipated form. His skin was a sickly white color, as though he'd never seen the sun, except for the bruises that lined the child's arm.

That's when they noticed the other boy, who was on the first boy's back; he had his face buried into the other little boy's shirt, as though trying to hide from everyone else. This little boy wore a bulky red sweater and a pair of jeans, but his clothing was just as loose as the other's. His skin was also very pale; perhaps even paler than the boy who carried him; there were no bruises on him that they could see, though.

Elizaveta bowed her head, shaking slightly from the injustice that had been done to these two boys, before getting up and slowly walking over to them. She slowly leaned into the one carrying the other, and wasn't surprised when he stiffened as though about to be hit. "Hello. You must be…Alfred?" Alfred had the blue eyes, right? "And you must be Matthew. Come on; let's find a place in the circle."

The other kids in the circle nearly groaned again; they could tell that this was a torture or an abuse victim, and they were always the hardest to deal with. They flinched away at your touch every time, as though you would actually hurt them no matter how nice you were. They were also the hardest to fix, which was what the 'therapy' circle was made for.

Alfred muttered something to Matthew, keeping one eye on the other kids, and gently helped his brother slide off of him, before lowering themselves to the ground. Matthew then hid his face in Alfred's shirt again, but all of them had gotten sight of the terrified purple eyes.

"Now that we're all here," Elizaveta said, seating herself in a chair at the head of the circle. "Why don't we introduce ourselves?" She glanced pointedly at the boy next to her. "Just your name and why you're here should be fine."

The first one to go was a short, stocky blonde boy with slicked-back hair and hard, steely blue eyes. He wore a tank top and army pants, for some strange reason, with a small cross around his neck, and was very well built. "My name is Ludwig, and I have amnesia."

Alfred and Matthew stared at him, which made the boy realize that they had _no _clue what he meant. "I, um, can't remember anything."

Alfred blinked at him, nodding slowly.

The boy sitting next to him was in a wheelchair, a burn-scar lacing up his face under his amber eyes and chocolate-y brown hair. His smile was friendly and kind, and he wore a white dress-shirt with his legs covered by a white blanket and had olive colored skin. "My name is Feliciano, and my house burned down, crippling me, and all my friends left me. Except for Ludwig and Kiku. Right, Luddy?"

It only took a second for Ludwig to nod his head to the wide, adorable amber eyes.

"I am Kiku Honda." A boy with black hair and blank, dark brown eyes said. He was wearing a tasteful blue kimono, and he was sitting in seiza. This boy, obviously Japanese, had a delicate, fragile feel to him, as though he'd break. "My family trains sumo wrestlers, and after I was born they ostracized me from the family, and tried to beat me when I revealed I enjoyed 'anime'."

Alfred and Matthew looked just as if not more confused than when Ludwig had spoken.

"I'll show you later." Kiku muttered, looking away from the tortured eyes.

"I'm Yao Wang." Yao said, smiling widely at the two boy's, who backed away a little fearfully. They were slightly intimidated by Yao's exuberant manner; he was wearing a red Chinese-styled shirt and loose, black pants, his black hair pulled up into a ponytail and his golden eyes piercing and watchful. "Everyone at school ignored me and belittled me, so I started doing drugs and tried to commit suicide."

Yao noticed the befuddled faces, and sighed. "I tried to kill myself."

At this the two boys looked even more confused, but Yao shook it off as they were too young and didn't exactly know what death was.

"I'm Ivan Braginski." A tall boy with white-blonde hair and stunning purple eyes said, watching the two newcomers with a curious, childish face. He wore a tannish trench coat and a scarf that was wrapped to many times around his neck, skin so pale it rivaled Alfred's and Matthew's. "I'm the son of a Russian diplomat, and was tortured for two months for information and then was used as a ransom."

There was a very long silence, where the rest of the kids slowly inched away from Ivan, before the next boy went.

"I am Francis Bonnefoy. I was…how do you put it politely…sexually abused, and now have perverted tendencies, _honhonhon_." It was the boy sitting next to Alfred and Matthew, a rose suddenly appearing in his hand from nowhere, with blonde hair and blue eyes and normal colored skin (unlike the unnatural pales and darker tones).

And at last it was Alfred and Matthew's turn.

Alfred opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a soft croak, as though he hadn't spoken out loud in such a long time. While Matthew looked at him worriedly, Alfred licked his lips and tried again, this time managing to get out a raspy whisper. "I'm…" He turned to Matthew, murmured something and when Matthew nodded, turned back. "Alfred. And this is my brother…" Again, he turned back and murmured something, and only looked back when his brother nodded. "Matthew."

"And what're you here for?" Elizaveta asked, though she already knew.

"Mr. Kirkland told me it was because we lived in a basement." Alfred rasped, and coughed slightly into his hand.

"What's so bad about that?" Yao asked, looking confused.

"I know—" Alfred let out a gasping cough, before continuing. "K-know. I don't understand it."

"They lived in a basement that'd never been cleaned and was infested with rats. They only had one bed as furniture and no blankets. They were _never _allowed out of the basement, and the only reason they learned how to talk was because their _father _accidently left books in the basement. They got one measly, rotten, moldy meal a week and never had a bath in their lives until we rescued them. But that's not the worst part of it." Officer Kirkland growled. He'd been standing in the back of the room, listening to the group of kids tell their stories. And now Yao though that what these boy's had been through wasn't that bad? "Alfred hid Matthew under the bed and told him to be silent, and now Matthew never speaks. Why? Because their _father _would come down almost every day and _beat _them. Alfred allowed himself to get beaten for his brother's sake. Is that the worst part? No, certainly not. The worst part," Arthur spat. "Is that they themselves never saw the injustice of it! They believed it was the same thing that everyone else got!" It wasn't so long ago Arthur himself had been in this room, with a group of people and their own problems.

The other kids looked away from Officer Kirkland to stare at Elizaveta in shock. "Is it true?" Ludwig asked, his blue eyes staring in horror. "Tell me it isn't true."

She bowed her head, body shaking with sobs, and thought, _Perhaps the only person who has a more horrific story is Ivan and Francis. _

And so it was that Alfred and Matthew became the newest members of the Severely Messed Up Group of Kids. Or SMUG K.

**A little angst-ness for ya? **

**Lately I've been centering on Alfred-Matthew brotherly relationships, and I have no clue why. **

**This was based on an abuse story in America, and though I didn't actually read the book, it talks about a kid stuck in a basement for all of his life. **

**I think he died. **

**This is very, very sad. **

**I need someone to request something funny to get me out of my angst funk. Maybe something with Germania and Rome...**

**IceEckos12**


	28. Roses

**Request done for OMGitsgreen.**

**Disclaimer: No own APH!**

**I'm laying off the angst for a while. I have a good idea for the next three chapters, and they're all humor. **

"Stupid bastard…chigi…" Romano gathered his papers together and stuffed them into a briefcase, swearing and cussing up a storm. "How _dare _he…"

Perhaps that was how he missed the person sneaking up behind him—until it was too late.

* * *

><p>Spain was sitting down, enjoying a nice cup of tea with England, when—<p>

"SPAAAAAAAAIN!"

The voice echoed throughout the entire building, a distressed cry for help.

Spain wasn't the type of person to panic. In fact, most would call him laid back, even in the worst of times. However, Spain could easily recognize that voice, and it belonged to his favorite little Italian country, and if he was sounding that…_desperate, _than surely he must be in some sort of horrible pain or being chased by muggers or kidnappers or…_rapists. _

No one touched his Romano! No one!

"Romano!" He called, jumping up and ignoring England's protesting cry as his tea cup dropped on the floor. "I'm coming!"

Seconds after he spoke Romano wheeled into the room, tomato red and shedding copious amounts of tears. As soon as he caught sight of Spain, he let out a loud whimper and literally _jumped _on top of him.

"Save me, bastard! You promised!"

"Romano, I don't understand…what am I saving you from?" He was answered seconds later as rose petals began to saturate the air, covering the surfaces with a layer of smelly red snow.

"Oh, Romano…" A husky, sultry voice came from the door; Romano shivered in fear, while Spain carefully pulled the terrified Italian behind him. "Why do you run away from big brother France…?"

Three things registered to the Spaniard as France sauntered into the room, cat ears pressed on his head and a sharp, thorny rose in his hand. One: France was so _undeniably _sexy right now. Two: He was completely naked, save a rose that was covering his vitals and the cat ears on his head. Three: France was right now extremely horny, and he wanted Romano (Spain, of course, couldn't let that happen).

"Get away from him, France!" Spain called, sounding much braver than he felt.

"Honhonhon…you want to join in too?" France smirked, pulling the rose closer to his face in an elegant movement.

_That's not the point, _Spain thought, blushing. _The point is that Romano doesn't want anything to do with you!_

Spain was about to retort, when England glanced up from cleaning the spilled tea and spotted his arch-nemesis—wearing almost nothing, _except _for the rose.

"Oh, I've had it with you!" England shouted throwing the dirty rag at France's face. "Stop defiling my national flower, you frog!"

It was at that instant, in a classic Hetalia moment, America appeared out of nowhere, laughing loudly and slurping on his soda. Why? No reason.

"Dude, England, are you blind or something? That's clearly _my _national flower. Maybe you really are getting old!"

Coloring in anger, England pointed at the rose covering France's more mischievous parts. "Are you _stupid, _git? That is quite obviously the _rose_, or _Rosa rubiginosa, _my national flower!"

"Was that British or something?" America responded, earning a groan from the other countries. "I dunno, but the rose is _my _national flower!"

"Enough!" Germany shouted, who'd been talking with Italy in the corner, going mostly unnoticed for the whole of the conversation. "It's obvious that you two share the same national flower!"

France smirked. England blushed. America turned green. Spain began to laugh, and Romano just cowered behind him, looking terrified.

The other countries simply laughed.

* * *

><p>Later that night, when America and England had drunk themselves into such a stupor that they were on the table singing bar songs with no clothes except a rose to cover themselves, and France was sitting next to Spain and Romano (earning little squeaks whenever he reached out to grope him), China and Japan sat by themselves, looking quite tired of the world.<p>

"Westerners." China said finally.

Japan nodded. "Tell me about it."


	29. Allies Return

**Disclaimer: I don't own APH.**

**IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE BOTTOM! IF YOU DON'T READ I WILL KNOW AND I WILL COME AND FIND YOU!**

Arthur stared.

Brick buildings surrounding a courtyard, metal flag-pole planted in the lush grass, ground scuffed and chipped from years of being worn away… How _cliché. _

Really, everything about this town was cliché, from the white stucco walls to the palm trees waving slightly in the breeze, to the cute shops all lined up in a long row. Everything was truly…_fake, _as though he was looking at a picture in some romantic story book, though he supposed he shouldn't have expected any less from _Americans. _

_Florida, _He thought, shifting uncomfortably in the blistering, humid heat, _is the last place I'd like to be. _

But back to the school.

Ah, yes…school. Most American books romanticized it, outlining some girl coming to a new school, and some incredibly hot boy showing her around…Arthur's darkest, deepest pleasure was those books, no matter how much he disapproved of them.

Yet school was nothing like this, of course. School was a nightmare, a living hell for everyone—including the teachers (except for the evil harpies who actually _enjoyed _torturing them).

He shifted again, and tried to block the sun with his hand. _Not a bloody cloud in the sky, _He thought in frustration, scowling deeply. _And it's not even summer!_

Arthur deeply missed London's dark, grizzly skies, opening up every few days to give its occupants a good deluge. Those were the days, he mused, when he'd pop open an old season of Doctor Who and watch all of the episodes, even the ones that he hated, which weren't that many. He'd whip up a few scones, put the kettle on, and curl up in his emerald green blanket and watch the TV, most likely falling asleep around 11:00 o'clock…

_Riiiiiing! _The bell decided to announce its presence, scaring life out of him.

Planting a calming hand over his heart, England took several deep breaths before straightening up again, ignoring the students that rushed by him.

Or he would've ignored them, if one of them hadn't run into him, knocking him to the ground.

"Um…oops. Sorry. Here, let me help you."

Arthur looked up to see a blonde American sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. He was tall and lanky, just a bit awkward, and was wearing some old, nasty WW2 bomber jacket. His blonde hair was mostly neat, except for a strange piece of hair that curved up in the front. What he noticed most, though, were the stunning blue eyes that peaked out from behind thick lenses; they were incredibly intense, and there was a small gleam of intelligence, something Arthur would never have noticed if he hadn't been looking.

_That's _when he noticed all the other students giving him a wide berth, as though he had some sort of disease. _Well then, _Arthur thought irritably, _I seem to have been getting friendly with the local nerd. _

"I'm quite alright, thanks." He replied gruffly, bending down to pick up his papers.

"Oh…okay. Wait, dude, you're _British?" _

Arthur flinched. _I shouldn't have spoken!_

"Um…yeah."

"That's so _cool!" _The boy's voice cracked, allowing his pitch to reach a tone that no voice should reach. "Dude, do you play an instrument?"

_An instrument…? _Arthur shrugged. "Yeah, I play piano. But why…?"

"Great!" He was cut off when the boy grabbed his hand and began dragging him along. "Oh, by the way, my name's Alfred! What's yours?"

Arthur looked around warily as the other students began pointing at them and whispering, before sighing loudly. He'd just have to ditch this cuckoo later… "My name's Arthur."

* * *

><p>"That's Francis, he plays guitar. Ivan plays drums, but Yao plays all the other eccentric instruments…Gilbert used to play bass, I don't know what we're going to do without him…Yong Soo used to play piano, but now we have you!"<p>

Arthur stared dumbly at the circle of people, who were all watching him with bored/curious expressions on their faces.

"And everyone…" Alfred grabbed Arthur's shoulders and shoved him forward. "This is our resident Brit. He plays piano."

Yao gave him a friendly smile, "Hello, aru. I'm sorry about Alfred—he means well, but…" Well, a least he seemed normal enough.

"Oh, Alfred, did you even ask him if it was okay?" Francis (Whom Arthur was liking less and less—bloody frog) sighed, flipping his hair over his shoulder. "Oh dear, Alfred, I'm afraid you'll never become big if you keep shirking your manners…"

Perhaps it was because Alfred's face was looking so crestfallen. Perhaps it was because Francis sounded so patronizing. He didn't know what it was, but he gave them a tight smile and said, "No, I don't mind. I'll think about joining, though. Perhaps you could…demonstrate?"

Alfred beamed, while Yao and Francis shook their heads. The big, bulky boy on the drums just kind of smiled at them all creepily.

"How about we do the cover?" The exuberant blonde was already pulling out a sheet of music.

Yao frowned and glanced at the floor. "You know, aru, this would be the perfect time for Yong Soo to come in."

And that's precisely what happened.

The door slammed open, and was accompanied by loud yelling and the pounding of feet. After only a moment of silence, there was a loud cry, "Hey, you Junior baby's!" And another of, _"ANIKI!"_

Two college students walked in—well, the white haired guy kind of swaggered, and the teen dressed in loose Asian clothing kind of ran-skipped, and all Arthur could do was stare. They both were very strange looking; the white-haired guy was obviously an albino, while the Asian boy looked like he was jacked up on red bull or something.

The swaggering teen, who was carrying a black guitar case on his back, immediately strutted over to Alfred, while the black-haired boy jumped on top of Yao—or, in his own words, his 'aniki'. Whatever that meant.

"Hey, kid. You guys living without us?" I hadn't been certain before, but now I knew, without a doubt, that this albino was one of those cocky arrogant idiots.

"Geez, Gilbert, perfect timing." Alfred grinned widely at 'Gilbert'. "See, we got a new pianist, and we were going to show him our cover song, but…"

"No bass, no piano. Screwed." Gilbert nodded in understanding, already slinging the case over his shoulder.

"Basically."

"No sweat, kid." He pulled out a black guitar with white and yellow flames and strummed a major chord, then sent Alfred a reassuring smirk. "I'm sure little Yong won't mind playing something for you…"

Yong Soo, who'd been babbling away to Yao the entire time, perked up when he heard his name. Yao, who had a long-suffering look on his face, grasped the teen's collar and mumbled something into his ear. He nodded once, smiled widely, and practically _hopped _over to the piano.

Alfred glanced around to make sure everyone was set up, before turning back to Arthur, and striding over to him. Arthur, feeling a little awkward about their close proximity, backed up and tried to ignore his blush. A hand closed around his wrist, eliciting a small squeak, before he was pulled to a chair at the head of the room. Only now did he notice that the rest of the instruments were placed in a semi-circle around the chair; someone, probably Yao, had probably anticipated his arrival.

"Okay, okay, okay. Sit down, shut up, and listen!"

The rest of the band members either rolled their eyes or let out long, breathy sighs (except for Ivan, who just kept smiling creepily) at Alfred's rudeness, before getting ready.

There was a moment of silence, like the pause before the plunge, before Francis began to stroke a tune on his guitar. There was a sort of mystic quality to the tune; there was obviously some sort of sound alter. Then, Ivan entered, a deep thrumming noise from his bass drum…and Alfred, who'd been tapping away, began to sing.

_I'm just a step away, _

_I'm just a breath away, _

_Losing my faith today,_

Yao jumped in, his voice a high tenor. After that, though, Arthur just listened, losing himself in the incredible music; the tones of the synth, the pounding of the drums, the sound of the guitar, the low, steady beat of the bass, and Alfred and Yao's gorgeous duet…this was truly _music. _He had to admit, Alfred, while a complete idiot, was a divine singer. Yao was good, but it was nothing compared to Alfred. The Chinese teen, however, wasn't just singing; he was also taking out strange instruments, and playing them at the exact moment where they would sound best.

_Falling off the edge today._

_I am just a man_

_Not superhuman_

_I'm not superhuman_

_Someone save me from the hate_

_It's just another war_

_Just another family torn_

_Falling from my faith today_

_Just a step from the edge_

_Just another day in the world we live_

_I need a hero to save me now_

_I need a hero, save me now_

_I need a hero to save my life_

_A hero will save me just in time_

_I've gotta fight today_

_To live another day_

_Speaking my mind today_

_My voice will be heard today_

_I've gotta make a stand_

_But I am just a man_

_I'm not superhuman_

_My voice will be heard today_

_It's just another war_

_Just another family torn_

_My voice will be heard today_

_It's just another kill_

_The countdown begins to destroy ourselves_

_I need a hero to save me now_

_I need a hero, save me now_

_I need a hero to save my life_

_A hero will save me just in time_

_I need a hero to save my life_

_I need a hero, just in time_

_Save me just in time_

_Save me just in time_

_Who's gonna fight for what's right?_

_Who's gonna help us survive?_

_We're in the fight of our lives_

_And we're not ready to die_

_Who's gonna fight for the weak?_

_Who's gonna make 'em believe?_

_I've got a hero, I've got a hero_

_Living in me_

_I'm gonna fight for what's right_

_Today I'm speaking my mind_

_And if it kills me tonight_

_I will be ready to die_

_A hero's not afraid to give his life_

_A hero's gonna save me just in time_

_I need a hero to save me now_

_I need a hero, save me now_

_I need a hero to save my life_

_A hero will save me just in time_

_(I need a hero)_

_Who's gonna fight for what's right?_

_Who's gonna help us survive?_

_(I need a hero)_

_Who's gonna fight for the weak?_

_Who's gonna make 'em believe?_

_I've got a hero_

_I need a hero_

_A hero's gonna save me just in time._

Alfred and Yao finished together, and Yong Soo played some sort of riff that just put the entire piece in a little box with a pretty red bow wrapped around it, Arthur jumped up, clapping loudly. "Bravo!" He called, grinning widely. He was, quite frankly, stunned. Arthur had expected to be some sort of wannabe beginner band, trying to get big on nothing but a few semi-decent performers; however, this was not the case. They were _incredible! _

Alfred grinned sheepishly, while Gilbert did an over-exaggerated bow. "You think so?"

"I know so." Arthur said firmly, and then glanced over at the two older students. "Why don't you guys just quit college and continue this band? It most certainly doesn't need _me." _

"Well," Yao said awkwardly, while Yong Soo looked slightly crestfallen. "Gilbert's going to join the army, so he can't stay here, and Yong Soo is moving back to Korea."

Gilbert slapped Alfred on the back, before walking over to Francis, murmuring something to him; the blonde nodded, and began fiddling with his red guitar. Gilbert nodded, satisfied, and unzipped his guitar case with practiced ease, slipped the bass in, and walking out the door.

Yong Soo reached over and hugged Yao, and withdrew quietly, before jumping over to Alfred and hugging him—and to Arthur's surprise, Yong Soo even wrapped his arms around him. Arthur didn't even have time to protest, though, because the hyperactive Korean was already out the door.

Ivan, who'd been silent the entire time, cleared his throat loudly after the awkward display. Arthur jumped.

"So are you joining?" The voice was thick with a Russian accent.

Arthur looked at Alfred's hopeful face, and smiled softly.

"Yes."

**8) **

**The band is called the Allies, by the way. **

**Alright, now next chapter is going to involve the audience! It's basically a chapter with nothing but the rules to follow in the UN. For example: 8. Alcohol isn't allowed in the meeting room. I've got a long list already, but I also want your help! Just send in the rule, and I will post it in the next chapter. The rule has to be sort logical (for instance, 'There must be a make-out contest every other meeting' is not logical.). Thanks!**

**While we're on the subject, I'd like to ask a question: IF I WERE TO TURN ONE ONE-SHOT INTO A STORY, WHICH ONE WOULD YOU CHOOSE? Out of all the ones I've already posted, of course. Thanks! **

**IceEckos12**


	30. Nine Eleven

**I know I said I'd lay off the angst, but…it's 9/11. I needed to say something. **

At first there was silence.

And then there was not.

A crash, then smoke and screams.

The sun so cheerful.

The shock of it didn't set in.

Until the next one hit.

That's when he noticed.

A jarring pain in his legs.

He stumbled—and fell.

Moaning in pain.

Something exploded in his heart.

And then his leg snapped.

Tears ran down his face.

Not from pain.

Not from fear.

From anger and sadness.

They were dying up there.

And he was down here.

His other leg snapped.

He sobbed.

A burn appeared on his arm.

_No. _

_No…please no._

His eyes found his towers.

His beautiful towers.

His pride.

But they had fallen.

There was panic.

And people screaming.

And his world fell

A

Part.

…***sob*. **

**This is my shortest chapter ever, but I think it's my most powerful.**

**IceEckos12**


	31. Laws

_1. Obey whatever laws the host country happens to have/asks you to follow, and respect their customs. (Bosses)_

_2. If you do break a law or dishonor a custom, accept the punishment without complaint. (Bosses)_

_3. Do not go around trying to start international incidents; the start of WWIII doesn't need to be hurried along by imbeciles like you. (Bosses)_

_4. Stop and think before you open your mouth/act. You might have the wrong idea. (Bosses)_

_5. DON'T BREAK THE RULES. (Bosses)_

_Any rules after this must have an explicit reason for being formed, and must have at least three signatures (The BTT must have a signature from an outside party.)_

_6. No flying planes near the UN location where meetings are in session. (England, China and Germany). _

**It wasn't funny when America set off all the air raid alarms. It was even less funny when he began bombing everyone—with paint bombs. **

_7. No touching anyone in any way, shape, or form without their consent. (England, Germany, and Italy)_

**Do I honestly have to explain this? (THIS MEANS YOU, FROG!)**

_8. Alcohol isn't allowed in the meeting room. (England, America, and China)_

**Everyone was getting drunk, ourselves included. There are several things we would **_**not **_**like to repeat. **

_9. No weird magical ju-ju. (America, Germany, France, China, Japan, Prussia and Italy)_

**Dude, there was some seriously weird shit going on in the meeting that day. England and Russia were, like, planning to take over the world or something. **

_10. There is only a limited amount of food allowed in the room. If you must have more, save it for __after__ the meeting in the storage room we have for just this purpose. No exceptions. (England, France, and Germany)_

**America. Thanksgiving. 'Nuff said.**

_11. And no potions. (America, Spain, Italy)_

**The last time potions were involved in a meeting, England, Spain and France turned into pirates, Italy was chibi-fied and turned into a BA warrior, and Prussia and Hungary were jumping around trying to drill people with swords. **

_12. For God's sake, don't bring in musical instruments! (England, Germany, Japan)_

**When Austria brought in his violin, Prussia got ahold of it. It sounded like something was **_**dying.**_

_13. No excessive staring. (Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia). _

**Russia stared at us the entire meeting. **

_14. England isn't allowed to bring in snacks. (America, China, Russia, France, Germany, Japan, N. Italy, Norway, Sweden, Finland, Ukraine, Belarus, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Canada, Turkey, Greece, Taiwan, Vietnam, Hong Kong, Korea, Spain, Prussia, S. Italy, Cuba, Denmark, Belgium, Seychelles, Egypt, Australia, Shinatty, and the list goes on) _

**Two words. Food. Poisoning. **

_15. A reasonable amount of clothing must be worn at ALL TIMES (a rose does not count) "Reasonable" is not to be defined by oneself. (England, China, Germany)_

**The world has enough problems without France walking around with everything 'hanging out'. **

_16. No fighting in the meeting room. (England, China, Germany)_

**America shouldn't have brought in paintball guns in the first place! **

_17. Japan and Hungary will never be allowed to sit next to each other during meetings. Never. Again. (Austria, Germany, China)_

**The countries had been forced to do some things they never thought they'd do. **

_18. Any weapons brought to a world meeting must be relatively harmless. (England, Germany, Italy)_

**Seriously. Italy was in surgery for hours—the doctors had to try and get all the goddamn shrapnel out of his head from Switzerland's gun. Also—America, we understand you have the right to bear arms [1], and you're proud of that, but we'd really appreciate it if you'd leave the AK-47 at home.**

_19. The members of the Bad Touch Trio (Spain, Prussia and France) are _NOT ALLOWED TO SIT NEXT TO EACH OTHER! _(Germany, England, Austria)_

**No way in hell will we change our minds. The whole mess of perviness is definitely more than the sum of its parts. Germany had to evacuate the Italies from the room! Not to mention that those three idiots started to sing 'Hips Don't Lie' [2] in the middle of the meeting. What was seen cannot be unseen. *shudders* **

_20. No one is allowed to compare the Baltics with any sex toys. Or ANYONE with a sex toy, for that matter. (Estonia, Russia, China)_

**When Prussia mentioned that Latvia was a lot like a vibrator, he just shook harder and eventually passed out. We don't need that kind of trauma.**

_21. America is not allowed to imply that the Greek gods like New York better than Olympus. (Greece, England, Italy)_

**This only became a problem after America read that Percy Jackson[3] series. Greece nearly had a seizure.**

_22. No feeding the animals. (Iceland, Australia, Prussia)_

**Sure, Iceland's pelican, Gilbird and Australia's koala bear were really cute and all when fed, but when other animals started getting involved, it took us a really long time to clean up the mess they left behind. **

_23. Halloween only occurs on the thirty-first. It doesn't last until your Thanksgiving, America. (Germany, Austria, Hungary)_

**The fact that America dressed as Davy Crockett[4] was bad enough (he even attempted to behave like him with some quirks like shouting, 'Remember the Alamo!'), but how he got England (dressed as the Doctor from Doctor Who[5]) in on it, no one will ever know...**

_24. There will be no in-depth conversations about favorite TV shows! (England, China, and France)_

**America and England were squabbling about 'Star Trek'[6] and 'Doctor Who', Japan was insisting that 'Monkey'[7] was his while China was griping about how he wrote the book, and the members of the BTT were arguing over Soap Operas. **

* * *

><p>Yay! I'm very pleased with this one. Very, very pleased.<p>

1) So, you may all be wondering about this. Basically, in the second amendment of the constitution it states that we all have the 'right to bear arms'.

2) Song written by Shakira, a Columbian artist.

3) A well loved American series about the Greek gods (who live on top of the New York state building). Written by Rick Riordan. BEST SERIES EVER! Besides Leviathan and Shiver and Harry Potter and...well, you get the idea.

4) Davy Crockett is a famous American war hero from the Texas Revolution. He held Fort Alamo for many days while the Mexicans attacked, and eventually died. However, during the war 'Remember the Alamo' became a popular rallying cry.

5) Doctor Who is probably my favorite TV series. It's a really, _really _old British TV show. It's been running since the 1970's (I think?), and it's a bout this time-traveling alien.

6) An classic American sci-fi TV show. It has a lot of different series, and still has an enormous following, though its popularity has died down bit.

7) I'm not Japanese, so I don't know much about this show. What I know from Wiki is that it's a cult classic Japanese TV show that was based off a Chinese book.

So, I think that's all you guys need to know.

For those too lazy to review, I looked at all the shots you wanted me to write and made a poll. Now, you can all vote on the top ones!

IceEckos12


	32. Nameless

**This one was really, really weird. I honestly don't know what to make of it. O.o**

**Disclaimer: I don't own APH. **

_America._

_America._

_Colony. _

_Boy. _

_Cute. _

_America. _

_Alfred. _

_America. _

_Love._

_America! _

_Little brother…_

_Cute._

_America. _

_Brat. _

_Childish. _

_Immature. _

_America! _

_Colony! _

_Rebel. _

_Stupid. _

_MINE! _

_Traitor! _

_Bastard. _

_America…_

(What?)

_Idiot. _

_Freak._

_War monger. _

_America._

(Who…? Oh. Is that me…?)

_Stubborn. _

_Foolish. _

_America. _

_Weak._

_Stupid._

_Divided._

_Mess._

_Cruel. _

_Unsure. _

(There was another name…what was it…?)

_Wild. _

_Rugged. _

_Cowboy._

_America!_

(Was that it? I don't…remember anymore…)

_Crazy. _

_Foolish. _

_Dumb. _

_Embarrassment. _

_Sick. _

_America. _

(Stop confusing me…)

_Neutral? _

_Bastard. _

_Cold. _

_Heartless! _

_Stupid. _

_Impulsive. _

_Late. _

_Boy. _

_Late. _

_LATE! _

_America…_

(Stop calling me that!)

_Brainless. _

_Capitalist. _

_Idiot. _

_Cursed. _

_Foolish. _

_Git. _

_Loud. _

_Naïve. _

_Obnoxious. _

_Embarrassment. _

_Boy. _

_Fat. _

_Rude. _

_Oblivious. _

_Freak_Insolent_Ignorantbrat—_

_America! _

(Stop it! Please! I don't know anymore!)

"America?" The voice—polite, Russian.

"I said stop it!" America pressed his hands to his ears. He didn't want to think about it—how he _didn't quite know his name anymore—_

"What's the matter with you, git?" England growled, though there was a slight tinge of worry in his gaze.

The usually cheerful blonde's face was screwed up in a mask of pain, as though something was hurting him. After a few seconds of screwing his eyes shut, he slowly opened them to look at the confused countries, before gently loosening the grip he had on his ears. The two appendages were left achy and red.

"What's the matter with you, aru?" China questioned—though he did not quite like America, he was the oldest member of the group, and the oldest were always the ones to comfort the youngest, right?

"What's _my_ problem?" America growled, looking slightly embarrassed. "What's _your _problem? Make up your damn minds already! It's giving me a headache!"

"What do you mean?" France asked curiously, feeling a bit of concern for the youngest member of their meeting. Perhaps he was a bit too young…

"You guys keep changing my name! On day it's idiot, the next it's immature, the next it's America!" The blonde country let out a loud huff. "You all need to come to some sort of an agreement, because I honestly don't know what to call myself anymore!"

With that, America left the room, leaving a very stunned group of countries in his wake.

**I don't know what I was thinking when I made this. I said I'd lay off the angst, but…:/**

**Anyway, the reason I haven't updated in a while is because I've been starting chapters, then stopping and starting a new one. I have about five backed up right now. The reason this one is out so early is because it's short and it's to show you all I'm still alive. **

**I know I said I'd lay off the angst, but…**

**Anyway, this is just plain weirdness. Please don't ask, I don't know what to think of it. **

**IceEckos12**


	33. Dead

**Disclaimer: I'm so, **_**so **_**proud of this one. Cheers!**

He had seriously had enough with this whole, 'being confused for another person' thing.

Matthew was just visiting Russia for a business trip. Hell, in one day he'd be back on the flight to Alaska and driving home to Canada. He didn't want to stay here in nasty politics, freezing-his-ass off Russia.

So of course he steps two feet out of the airport, and a bunch of guys in black suits come and force him into the black, tank-like car on the side of the road. Of course, the citizens ignore it, though the tourists don't like it much.

So after an agonizingly long car ride with a cloth bag over his head and handcuffs around his wrists, and asking the other people in the car where the hell they were going, he was tied to a chair, wondering what the hell was going on.

Suddenly, the bag came off, and the lights flashed on at the exact same moment. Matthew hissed at the sudden change, squeezing his eyelids shut, all the while trying to force them back open. He heard rather than saw the person who walked in; big, booming, heavy steps, like the abominable snowman or something.

The man said something in Russian, which Matthew only spoke a smattering of. He finally managed to pry his eyes open and see who he was looking at.

Two pairs of violet eyes met. Matthew reeled back as best he could when tied to a chair, surprised by the hulking figure in front of him, while the other just stared at him for a few seconds, before whipping around and heading back out of the door.

"Wait!" Matthew called, suddenly scared. "What's going on?"

There was no response—but after a few seconds, even Matthew himself could hear the Russian being shouted at the poor people inside.

There was a loud crash, and a high-pitched, girly shriek. Matthew shivered, and decided he was better off ignorant.

Then, the door slowly creaked open, and the smiling face of his captor appeared in the threshold—except the smile was less than friendly and looked more like he was trying not to kill someone.

"привет. I am sorry for the inconvenience. We have made a terrible mistake, da?"

Matthew jumped when he spoke, and nodded slowly. "What is this all about? What's going on?"

"извините, again. Me and an American friend of ours like to play a little game. It is called, 'He will infiltrate the country, and I will try and catch him.' It is a fun little game. I am sorry you got involved…?"

He trailed off, an invitation for Matthew's name. Honestly, he didn't know whether or not to be suspicious; the giant Russian seemed honest enough.

"Matthew. And you are…?"

The Russian smiled creepily. "Ivan, Matthew. Это удовольствие."

"Sounds like an interesting game." Matthew decided he wanted to change the subject. Abruptly.

"Da, is it not? My little American friend came up with it. He thought it was most amusing." Ivan's eyes were distant, as though remembering something that had happened a long time ago. "Alfred is…an interesting person."

Matthew froze.

No, it couldn't be.

Alfred was _dead. _

"Alfred?" Matthew laughed shakily. "Was that his name? I used to have a brother called Alfred, but he died. We were twins, you know? We looked exactly alike."

Ivan froze too, staring at Matthew with big violet eyes. His lips parted in shock. "Matthew _Williams? _You are— Canadian, da?"

"Yes. But how did you know that…?" Matthew stared up at Ivan, with just a bit of hope. They never found his brother's body, so perhaps he was still alive…?

"Your brother lived in Alaska when he was little. I was a Russian immigrant, and did not speak a word of English. He did not care where I came from, or who my people were…he simply looked at a person and saw them for who they were. He looked at me, and he told me that I was very…cool, both figuratively and literally. He said we were both cool, and that meant we should stick together." Ivan smiled softly at the memory. "He often talked of a little Canadian boy that he visited every weekend, who was his brother. You are him, da?"

"Ivan Braginski?" Matthew asked breathlessly. "_You _are Ivan Braginski? Alfred used to talk about you all the time! You two were best friends until—" He trailed off, suddenly sad.

Until Alfred died.

Matthew looked up to see Ivan staring at him curiously. For some reason, when Matthew looked at him, he saw an enormous child.

"You think that Alfred is…dead?" Ivan asked slowly, blinking.

"Of course he's dead!" Matthew began softly, but began building in volume—and even he could not help the tears that began to spill from his eyes. "He died three years ago! I _saw _his car, dammit! He's _dead!" _

Ivan suddenly looked uncomfortable as Matthew choked out a sob. "He's dead…" Matthew whispered one last time, and suddenly the ropes were gone from his legs and arms and Ivan was hugging Matthew, whispering to him in Russian. Then, he switched to English.

"Your brother is alive."

**I loooove this chapter. I love Ivan. I love Matthew. Now all we need is Alfred, and the party is complete. Anyway, so I left it at a cliffy. There will be two parts, though, I can guarantee it. **

**IceEckos12**


	34. What was the word?

_2 years, 7 months, 5 days ago_

He sat in complete darkness, head pounding, limbs aching, mind racing.

He was tied to a chair, he knew that.

He had a bag over his head, and the lights were off.

He felt like he'd been steamrolled with a truck.

And he did not have a _clue _who he was.

His mind was like a blank sheet; great gaping holes filled his brain, where something _should have been. _There was a word for what that was called, but he forgot that, too. Maybe it was just his personality to forget words. Maybe not. He didn't know.

Maybe he'd gotten a cun-cun-cunsussion—whatever…and that was why his head hurt so badly. And then…

The lights snapped on, and the bag was pulled off a second later. He hissed in pain, wishing for the sweet, enclosing darkness; light did _not _help his head.

"Welcome, Mr. Jones. You are a slippery man."

He didn't like that voice. Somewhere in his subconscious he knew that this was a bad man.

What to do? Pretend he remembered, or…

Mr. Jones—he assumed that was his last name—cracked a smile. "I try."

The bad man—for that shall be his label—smiled back, as though this was a game. "Oh, Alfred," Alfred grinned wider; there was his name! Alfred! "If you had just given up sooner we wouldn't have had to hit you with a car."

Alfred frowned, trying to piece together what was being said; extremely hard due to the fact he didn't remember anything. The bad man observed him for a second, eyes narrowed, before turning around. "I assume that you remember our agreement."

Crap. Remember—that was the last thing he was going to do. "Refresh my memory, won't you?" _Play stupid, _A little voice whispered. _Play stupid! _

"Oh, Al…that car must have scattered your brain quite a bit if you don't remember our agreement." The bad man turned around, smirking widely, and grabbed the arms of Alfred's chair, leaning in close. "You don't remember a single thing, do you? I'm offended you wouldn't trust me. Or is there still a small part of you who remembers…?"

Alfred stared at the man, eyes wide, before he said the first thing that came to mind. "Who _are _you?"

The bad man jerked back as though stung; saying was one thing, but when he actually heard it…the man smirked. "You may call me Arthur. I am your boss."

_2 years, 3 months, 2 days ago_

Alfred stepped off the plane and entered Russia.

For some reason, as he walked from the plane to the airport doors, he felt all his worries melting away. For some reason, he knew that he loved Russia. There was something about the cool air…but there was something else, too…

There was a sudden sense of foreboding as he stepped outside the doors.

And then he was tackled by a giant. Or, that was what it felt like.

Alfred landed on the floor, feeling the wind whoosh from him, and immediately panic began to well up in his chest. _Someone has jumped on me! It could be an enemy! _

He looked back…and for some reason, a grin split his face. A name burst from his lips, though Alfred didn't know who he was. "Ivan!"

"_Privet! _Al, I missed you! I thought you were still mad at me!" Ivan smiled widely, closing his big violet eyes.

Alfred was at a loss. For some reason this man made him feel irritated, happy, and warm all at once. Obviously he'd known this man very, very well; he felt he could trust him, unlike Arthur, his British boss. "Ivan, I have something to tell you…" Alfred's face twisted as Ivan's smile faded, and he nodded slowly. "I'm really, really sorry, but…I can't remember anything. You're…important to me, aren't you?" Alfred pressed a hand to his chest.

Ivan slid off Alfred, eyes wide and full of barely concealed pain. Alfred winced, and reached out a hand and pressed it against Ivan's shoulder. "Please, you have to help me. I can't trust anyone…especially not Arthur." Ivan's eyes narrowed slightly at the name. "You know him, right? Please, Ivan—something tells me I can't trust him! Please!"

There was a long pause, and for a second Alfred thought Ivan was going to leave him—his only connection to his past, besides Arthur. Finally, the bigger man said, "Come with me."

_1 year, 8 months, 4 days_

"IIIIIIIIIVAAAAAAAAN!" Alfred sang, and threw his arms around the taller Russian. "I missed you~!"

Ivan smiled back. "Al, I missed you too."

As the two began walking down the street, Alfred leaned in imperceptibly and whispered, "Arthur's getting suspicious. I think he's going to be sending guards or cameras after me."

Ivan leaned in too, keeping it casual. "What do you propose we do?"

Alfred shot him a grin. "Let's make it a game. I go to Russia and try and keep myself hidden, and you have to find me, and make it look like you're capturing me. Okay? How 'bout it?"

Ivan closed his eyes and grinned. "Sounds like fun."

_That night, Alfred woke up in his hotel room, the name of someone important on his lips. "Mattie…" He whispered, before falling back asleep. He did not remember anything in the morning. _

_Present day_

"Boss, we've spotted him."

Ivan was saved from answering Mattie's questions by the shaking voice of his underling. "Raivis…are you _sure _this time?" He growled. When the little Latvian nodded, Ivan turned to Mattie. "You're brother has amnesia. He came to me almost two years ago." He paused. "What do you know about…Arthur?"

Mattie paled.

Ivan pressed a soothing hand on Mattie's head. "We'll talk about it later. How would you like to see your brother?"

**Okay, I lied. This is going to be a trilogy. **

**Ooo! Who is Arthur? What does he want with them? The mystery deepens! **

**And, one thing: **

**Chapter five: IceEckos12 is sitting in a chair. She looks at the reviews. "I really should respond to those reviews!" And promptly forgets about it.**

**Chapter 15: "I really, really should respond to those reviews!" **

**Chapter 25: "Why do I keep forgetting to do this?" **

**Now, I am going to start responding to reviews. I've been meaning to do it, but… *shrugs* **

**Chapter 20: **

**IMAxENIGMAx: Yeah…I don't speak German, so you're probably right ^^'. Thanks for telling me. **

**And again, in Chapter 25:**

**IMAxENIGMAx: I don't speak Spanish either, but my sister does, and she agreed with you. Thanks for pointing that out. I'm no good with foreign languages. **

**In Chapter 27: **

**Bleach-otaku: It was based off a Boy Called It, though at the time I'd written that chapter I hadn't read that book. Now I know that the little boy didn't die; he got rescued when he was 12. Still, it was a very, very sad book. **

**I can't seem to stay off angst, can I? Ah well. We all knew I was going to stick with the hard stuff. XD **

**And everyone else: OMG THANKS! YOU GUYS KEEP ME WRITING! I LOVE YOUALLLLLLLLL! **

**Okay…I'm done. **

**IceEckos12**


	35. Arthur

**Hey, hey, hey! **

**I don't own APH. **

"He's been captured by the Russians."

Arthur observed the spy that sat in front of him with cold green eyes. The poor fellow swallowed and continued.

"It was like he was asking to be captured, though. His hair…he'd dyed it red, white, and blue, and was wearing sparkly pink sunglasses. And…he was wearing an old white disco suit with a silk violet top. Which was also very sparkly."

The nameless spy concluded his statement, and scuttled out of the room, allowing Arthur to stew by himself. Which, in retrospect, was a very good idea. Five minutes later the room was entirely destroyed, and Arthur was nursing some bruised knuckles.

Arthur pressed the _talk _button on the pager, which somehow was unscathed, and said, "Gloria, call Wilson and tell him to get my jet ready!"

* * *

><p>"Hey, Ivan! Lovely weather we're having, yeah?"<p>

Ivan sighed at Alfred's apparel. "Really, Al? Could you have made yourself more obvious?"

"I dug this outta my dad's closet." He turned around, displaying the words written on the back of his disco pants—which read, _Imma target!_, and had a big red bulls eye embroidered between the words. "These're great, right?"

Ivan nearly choked at—did Alfred even know what the words insinuated?

"People kept grabbing my ass, though. It was really, really weird."

Apparently not.

"Alfred, think that over in your head." Ivan rubbed his temples in a self-suffering way. There was a long pause, and then Alfred let out a soft, '_Oh,'. _When Ivan next looked up, Alfred was wearing only boxers, and was sending the disco pants a scathing glare.

"They made me do it. I swear, it was the pants. With their cool, disco-y-ness—it's like the wrong trousers, from Wallace and Grommet**[1]. **Dude, that dog was sick."

Ivan sent Alfred a blank look.

"What?" Alfred asked, folding the pants up. "Wallace and Grommet is the most awesome-est movie ever! It's about a dog and a fat guy, and the dog is really smart but the guy is kind of dumb. _We forgot the crackers, Grommet!" _Alfred laughed.

Ivan shook his head. _American pop culture, _he thought, and suddenly remembered the other American—or was it Canadian? Sitting in the other room, convinced his brother was dead.

He turned around and opened the door to make sure the little guy was still there, before beckoning Alfred forwards.

"What is it, Ive? What's with this cloak and dagger stuff—" Alfred cut off abruptly when he saw the person in the other room, who was staring at the wall with a vacant expression. "Ivan—Ivan, who is that? _Who is that?" _

Ivan shushed Alfred, watching him carefully with violet eyes. "I believe I have found your brother. Or, that is what he claims to be. You two certainly look alike."

Alfred shut his eyes, grimacing slightly, before opening them again, still staring at Matthew. His eyes flared with sudden recognition and, unbidden, a name slipped from his lips. "Mattie…"

Matthew whipped around, and met eyes with his supposed-dead brother. "Al…" He gasped, eyes widening. Without a second though, he leapt from the chair and wrapped his arms around Alfred, eyes squeezed shut. "Oh Al…I thought you died!"

"I guess I didn't, huh?" Alfred smiled bitterly, and Ivan knew it was because he probably couldn't remember much about his own brother.

There was a short pause, as though an ominous weight was pressing down around them. Then, Matthew spoke. "Ivan says you have amnesia."

"Yeah. I do." Alfred sighed, and rested his chin on the top of Matthew's head.

"Do you remember me?"

"Sort of."

Ivan back out of the room, watching the brothers with a half-smile on his face. He had better let them catch up—after all, Matthew could fill in the holes better than he could. To be honest, even before Alfred got amnesia they didn't talk about the past. They only focused on the then and now—Ivan didn't know if it was because Alfred didn't trust him or just wanted to protect him.

He turned around to go grab something strong—maybe a coffee, but more likely some vodka—when his face met with the barrel of a gun. Two cold green eyes stared up at him, while Ivan blinked in shock.

"Don't move." Arthur Kirkland said. "Or you'll be in a world of pain."

* * *

><p><em>Arthur stared down at Alfred, sneering in contempt. The American glared back up at Arthur, normally blue eyes almost black with rage. <em>

"_If you tell anyone about this—if you disobey me in any way, I will make you suffer. Your friends will die first, and then I will torture you with their memory. Then, I will put you through the worst pain imaginable…and then you shall die. Is that what you want…Alfred?" _

**This is kind of dark... so anyway, my explanation. Alfred was part of this group. Then, he wanted out of the group. Arthur wouldn't stand for it. Hence, this three-shot.**

**FoREVerhauntingme and TribalGirl (Your reviews were very similar, so...): Yes, I did update. Aren't you happy now? :)**

**bleach-otaku: I hope you liked the ending. My updates can be kind of slow, so...**

**pengirl100and2: Really? Thanks. I'm glad you liked it-most of this stuff comes from the top of my head. It's nice to get more reviewers. **

**And I must mention that TribalGril reviewed a bunch of other chapters. I look once: "Aw, only 67 reviews." When I next look: "fja;oiegnaoiegjwae$$3i85y3? 78?" So thanks. :)**

**IceEckos12**


	36. At the Art Museum: Followup

**Hehehe. **

**I don't own Hetalia. **

"Hey, Russia." America said, grinning. He kicked off his shoes at the door, and ran a hand through his hair, sending little droplets of snow everywhere.

Russia smiled slightly. "Hello, comrade. I trust the trip was well?"

"A little turbulence," He replied, and began unzipping his coat. "Nothing I couldn't handle, though."

"A snow storm?" Russia asked drily.

"Details," America shrugged, uncaring that he'd just flown through a snowstorm. "Though Mr. President wasn't too pleased with me."

His lips quirked up, as he imagined America's boss screaming in his seat. Hopefully, the diplomatic meeting they had scheduled today would set him straight. And then Russia sighed and glanced at America, because he was the one who got stuck with babysitting the nation of the USA.

"So what're we doing today?" America asked, shaking Russia out of his reverie. The American was already losing interest, however, his eyes looking at the artwork in Russia's home.

The artwork.

Shit.

Russia gently grabbed America's arm and led him away from the hall, trying to divert his attention away from the artwork—but it was too late.

"Hey, this is cool." America shook off the iron-like grip and walked over to examine a brightly colored painting on one side of the hall. "It looks like an art from my museum. Actually, that one was stolen a couple of weeks ago, so…" He trailed off. Though he was oblivious, he was not stupid. "Russia."

Russia froze; he'd been slowly inching away. "D-Da, America?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" America didn't look at him, though there was a strange aura coming off of him—much like Russia himself when he was angry. _I never should've given him Alaska, _Russia thought.

"_Nyet, _America." The larger nation replied.

"Do you think I'm blind?" He still hadn't turned around.

"_Nyet, America." _Russia began to back away. They were two super-powers in the same room, and one was getting angry. He _really _didn't want to destroy his house!

"Then answer me this…did you steal this painting?" America's head turned slightly, and Russia swore he could see little flames in his eyes.

Russia didn't say anything, just took a step back and smiled nervously.

There was a moment of tense silence, before America's evil, angry aura exploded outwards around him, filling the room with an oppressive malevolent feel to it. The air was tinged with power and hatred, and Russia realized that he had just stolen a painting—a nice painting—from one of the world's most powerful countries. His chest began to tighten as America's hair began to float slightly, as though a chilling wind was blowing through—

Then, America turned back around with a bright smile on his face.

"Why didn't you just ask for it?" The sudden moment of ominous hatred was gone, as though swept away by a bright light. Russia gasped as air flooded back into his lungs. "I would've given it too you…for a price, of course. And—you know—for a limited time. After all, it is my favorite painting in the Museum. Don't you like it too?" He thought it was best to nod in agreement; though that malevolent…_thing…_was gone, it didn't mean that that raw evil was gone entirely. "Well…you can keep it for 2 years…" As America babbled on, Russia nodded in agreement to whatever he said. _I can always renew the agreement. _He thought.

"So…" America blinked in surprise when Russia spoke. "You are…_not _angry?"

Their eyes caught, and suddenly Russia was drowning in rage, the fear freezing him to the spot, causing him to tighten up. Then—mercifully—America blinked, and the feeling was gone. Once again, Russia was left breathless.

America smiled creepily. "Now, Russia, where'd you get _that _idea?"

**The long awaited chapter: a continuation of chapter six, At the Art Museum. A could of people speculated about America's reaction, and, well…This was born. Remember, people, I need more requests! And Enigma, I know you sent me that request…and I've been writing it, but I'm still not happy with it. It was pretty weird. It'll get done eventually…Haha. **

**I updated quickly this time...lol. **

**FoREVerhauntingme: A lot of people have been saying that. I just might, if it's that popular.**

**Bleach-otaku: It is a little incomplete; actually, that's what I thought about it, too. As I said to FoREVer, if that story is that popular I probably will continue it. **

**Angel-chan desu: SMUG K, by the way. And yeah, those probably were my favorites, too. I'll probably make a continuation of Rules, since it's reviewer interactive :D. **

**Pengirl100and2: YES! Wallace and Grommet FTW! Thanks :)**

**IceEckos12**

**Follow-up **


	37. Ivan and the Cat

**Disclaimer: Hi...Uh...I don't own Hetalia.**

Ivan sniffed, breathing in the fishy air.

He did not like China. He especially did not like the markets, with loud foreign voices screaming into the silence, and dirty roads under his feet. Then there was the smell; the smell of crusty, sweater sailors and reeking fish, paired with animal feces and frying food. Not to mention there had to be hundreds of germs flying around _everywhere…_Ivan muttered a curse under his breath in Russian, avoiding the frightened gazes of the populace.

"Ivan, sir…" He turned to look at his partner, a small sneer forming on his lips. Raivis was a coward, always sucking up to him; that spineless fool. At the burning gaze, Raivis squeaked and lowered his eye, shaking and trembling. "The building is not too far away…Wang Yao will be meeting us there. What should I…?" It was an obvious plea for help, or orders, or _something. _

Ivan sighed, and looked around the market again. The sights were just as bad as the rest of it, the weather hot and heavy on his skin. He needed to get _out. _"_Da, _comrade. This stench is destroying my nose."

Raivis opened his mouth to protest, obviously about to reprimand Ivan on his rudeness, but wisely shut his mouth with a soft _click, _instead just nodding. He carefully began to skitter down the street, as though the earth was going to swallow him up if he stayed in place for too long. _Obviously he is just as uncomfortable as I am, _Ivan smirked.

His eyes looped one more time around the filthy place—

There.

A small brown cat, with the biggest blue eyes he'd ever seen, was staring out at him, obviously terrified. The other cats in the cage were ignoring him, obviously resigned to their fates, but this one was not. It was just sitting there, begging and pleading with its adorable _blue eyes—_

No. He did not _want _a cat. He did not _need _a cat. He was a big, scary businessman who didn't have enough time to have a _fish, _let alone a needy little _kitty—_

The cat mewled. Pitifully. _Oh dear god. _

Before he knew it, he was striding over to the stall, removing his wallet from his deep pockets. Ivan stared at it for a second, unsure that he was doing the right thing, before shrugging and looking back at the little brown, dirty cat. It was smarter than he'd originally thought; the cat looked so happy, as though he understood that Ivan had come for _him_ and not the others. That was all it took for his heart to melt.

"How much for the little brown one?" Ivan asked the vendor, looking him over. He was a tall man, thin and pale, with deep black eyes and a short hair. He looked a bit too _prim _to be living around this area, though it was obvious he didn't scare easy. He didn't even bat an eye at Ivan's size _or _accent. He examined the nametag. _Kaoru _it read it elegant Chinese.

"They're all _brown." _Kaoru pointed out, nodding towards the cage. It was true; all the cats appeared to have a thick layer of brown filth on them. For all Ivan knew, the little cat who'd been begging for his help was bright orange. "It's the little one with the blue eyes, isn't it?" When he gave a curt nod, Kaoru chuckled. "I figured. He seems determined not to be put into someone's supper. I nearly took him home myself. Alright, 2,000."

Ivan glared. He wanted the cat, but not that much. "1,000."

Kaoru's thin eyebrows rose elegantly on his thin face. "1,750."

Oh, so they were playing this game. Ivan was determined not to lose. "1,000."

"Not a _yuan _below 1,500."

He gritted his teeth angrily. He didn't have _time _for this! "1,250."

Kaoru gave him a prim look, delicately folding his hands in front of him. "Not a _yuan _below 1,500."

Just then, the little cat let out another pitiful mewl. Ivan's heart melted a little more. Perhaps he was worth it…

Damn Chinese.

"Done." Ivan withdrew the amount from his wallet, bemoaning how much lighter it was. It was so very worth it, though; because when he opened the cage, the little brown filthy cat leapt up gave the merchant a solid hiss, before leaping delicately from the cages to Ivan's arms.

"I think we will get along very well, little friend."

When Ivan hurried into the building where he was supposed to meet Wang Yao, Raivis took one look at the cat in his arms and nearly had a heart attack.

"Sir, is that a…?"

"No, it is a filthy stuffed animal I picked up. In fact, I would like you to hold onto it until the end of this meeting. Since it is nothing but a stuffed animal, it should be no trouble. Correct?" His ominous statement lost some of its effectiveness when the small cat peered out of Ivan's thick arms with his big blue eyes, and let out another tiny, pathetic meow.

Raivis looked from the cat to Ivan, and back to the cat, incredulity finding its way onto his face. Okay, he could deal with his terrifying boss. He could deal with a maximum of six hours of sleep a night, usually less. He could _deal_ with his boss's creepy sister, who he was forced to deal with _every single time _because Ivan was too much of a coward to deal with her himself. But taking care of a random cat that the boss picked up for what could be suspicious reasons?

That was _not _in the job description. But then again…it's eyes…

He opened up his arms wearily, flinching slightly when the dirty cat leapt onto his clean coat. That was when he noticed the dirt stains on Ivan's long grey coat; he let out a soft sigh of resignation, no doubt annoyed that he was almost certainly going to have to clean those out later. That was when Ivan noticed it, too; he frowned, rubbed at the stains slightly (which did absolutely nothing) and then gently removed the coat and his black gloves, and set them on top of the cat in Raivis's arms. Ignoring the soft meow, he ran towards the meeting room, long scarf trailing behind him.

Raivis twitched awkwardly as the tiny cat climbed up through the clothes and gave him a somewhat sympathetic look.

_Well now what?_

When Ivan walked out of that mind-numbingly boring meeting two hours later, he fully expected Raivis to still be standing there stiffly, holding the little dirty cat in his arms. However he was treated with the sight of the two sitting on the ground, Raivis rambling on in his soft Latvian to the cat, obviously winding some sort of tale that the cat didn't understand but was enjoying anyway. The little thing let out a soft meow whenever he paused, as though Raivis was a gentle mother telling a story to her young child.

That was about when the pair noticed Ivan; Raivis froze in the middle of a sentence, and stared at him with two big, horrified eyes. The cat—_it really needs a name—_let out a confused meow, and then looked to where Raivis was staring. When he caught sight of Ivan he let out a happy yelp, and trotted across the floor to greet the Leviathan.

"What is this filthy animal doing in my building?"

Oops. He'd forgotten about Yao.

"Very sorry, Mr. Wang." Ivan bent down and lifted the cat with one hand. "We'll be leaving. Come along, Raivis. Make haste, we must leave before Mr. Wang gets much angrier."

The poor little guy didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

><p>"You, little friend, are the most unusual white color. I thought you were brown."<p>

Indeed, the cat had brown around the scruff, but he was mostly a clean, bright white. It had taken nearly ten minutes to rub all the filth out of his coat, and even then Ivan could clearly see some dark patches where dirt clung stubbornly to its—_his _fur. The little cat appeared to be young, one or two years old, with the brightest blue eyes he'd ever seen on a cat. And, much to Ivan's dismay, it was obviously a house cat; it was well fed and obviously trusted people.

He sighed. He'd need to find this cat's owner, pronto. Well…if his owner neglected him so, then maybe—

His thoughts were interrupted by a rapid-fire knocking at the door.

Ivan let out a soft growl of annoyance and gently patted the cat, trusting Raivis to take care of it. He heard the low murmur of voices—the person who'd kept switching languages, obviously not understanding the Latvian—or Lithuanian—when they finally settled on Russian. He ignored what they were saying; instead squeezing the cats tiny paws between his fingers, smiling slightly when the he let out an annoyed mewl. There was a long silence, before there was a soft knock on the door. "Mister Ivan…" Raivis whispered, sounding slightly crestfallen. "There is a man claiming to be the cat's owner out here. What should I do?"

"I will talk with him." Ivan growled back, patting the cat's head. "He cannot be a proper cat owner if he leaves his pet to the Chinese."

Even though Raivis's face remained impassive and scared, Ivan could almost feel the cruel laugh his young helper was exuding.

He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with bright blond hair, and—get this—equally bright blue eyes that almost seemed to sparkle with mischievous glee. He wore an oversized bomber jacket, and baggy jeans. When he saw the little cat in Ivan's arms, he let out a delighted cry—"Alfie!"—and pounced. The cat let out a meow of happiness as he was hugged close to his master's chest…and quite on accident, Alfred accidently wrapped his arms around Ivan as well.

"I thought I'd never see you again!" Even though he was almost 6' tall, and was obviously in his late twenties, he acted more like a four year old. "Did you get scared? Oh, I'll bet you were scared. Don't worry, daddy's here, I'll make it aaaall better—"

"_Excuse _me." Ivan growled, slightly alarmed by the man's attitude. "Could you please—"

The blond backed away, looking embarrassed. "Omigod, I'm so sorry. It's just—me'n Alfie junior here travel together…he's been everywhere and all. Greece, Italy—_geez those Italian'—_India…You name it, we've been there. So…China, right? Man, these Chinese guys are wacky—" Ivan couldn't help but agree, "—so we're standing on the Great Wall and all. And I mean, the Great Wall is cool and stuff, but what's the point? It's a wall, not going to stop a bunch of angry Mongols from hopping over the border…" The blond noticed Ivan's expression—a mixture between amusement and annoyance—and changed directions. "So yeah, I'm standing there and Alfie's on my shoulder, and this wacky Chinese dude with black hair is all like, 'You're breasts are mine', and I'm like, WTF? And then he grabs Alfie and runs off with him!" He nodded indignantly, folding his arms in front of his chest. "So…yeah." He finished awkwardly.

Ivan stared at him for several seconds longer, slightly shocked at how much the American could _talk. _Finally, he blinked slowly and adjusted his neck, and asked, "…who are you?"

"Oh, sorry. That's a little rude of me. Alfred. Alfred F. Jones. F. is for Foster. I think. I don't actually know…I used to tell people it stood for 'fucking', but after I got a job that raised a couple of eyebrows. And a really big busy eyebrow yelled at me, so…" Alfred F. Jones trailed off, looking thoughtful.

He did not want to know. Not in the slightest.

"How did you find him here?"

"Oh, since we were traveling together, I decided to put a tracker on him. I get a location every five minutes. The only reason I couldn't find him before was because…" Alfred looked vaguely embarrassed. "It was the dust bunnies. It's always the dust bunnies. They were taunting me, I swear to god."

Ivan ran his hand along his face, letting out a sigh that seemed to reverberate around the room. "Okay, fine. Take the cat. I don't…I don't…want…" _I don't want the cat. Why couldn't he just say that? _

"Alfie. His name is Alfie. He seems to like you, actually. That's unusual; he only likes Mattie and Arthur…" He suddenly perked up. "You travel for your job, don't you?"

Wary of this abrupt personality change, he nodded warily. "I stay here till Thursday, and then I go back to Moscow."

"Hey, that's cool. I'm going to Moscow on Thursday, too!"

_No. Please, no. Don't _do _this!_

"We should _totes _travel together!"

_Nooooooo! _

**Geez, I'm so sorry. **

**I haven't updated in the _longest _time. *Groans* I'm seriously sorry. **

**So I decided to add a little 2000 word oneshot. It's sorry thing. **

**But now I have a goal! I'm going to complete 100 oneshots. Then the story will end. More than a third of the way through, so that's nice. But remember, keep requesting! I'll update more now. I just had the worst writers block I've ever had...whenever I tried to write, it was like ramming my head into a brick wall. I doesn't do anything but hurt a lot. **

**But next I'll be doing Angel-chan desu's request, and then probably a follow up on SMUG K. So look forward to that! **

**IceEckos12, over and out! **


	38. Kodak Moment

**Disclaimer: No, I don't own Hetalia.**

"And then, Mattie, you'll never believe it—ouch! Geez, not so hard! Be careful with my hair!"

Canada withdrew slightly blushing. He'd been running a comb through his older sister's hair, trying to be as gentle as she was whenever she messed with his curls, but for some reason the teeth kept getting caught on little snags! How did America do it? "I-I'm sorry, Al." The boyish nickname slipped effortlessly off his tongue. Ever since they'd been little, Allison had detested being associated with anything girly. Now that she was older, she was way more girly, but there was still some part of her that detested every miniskirt she'd ever put on. "I keep—I can't—there are all these little tangles…"

America sighed, yawned—she'd been looking very tired lately— and reached up to fumble for the comb, and before Canada's eyes the knot turned into another gleaming wave of hair. He held up his hands in defeat; it was a girl's touch. He simply could not do it.

Noticing his distress, America sighed and turned around to face him. "Okay, Mattie, there's a special trick to this. See, you go from the bottom. One sec…" She stuck her small pink tongue out in frustration, trying to find another snag in her hair. "Okay, here's one." She turned around, and indicated the snarl with her fingers. "Um…so you take the comb…" With some difficulty she found the bottom of the tangle, and slowly began to work through it. "Start from the bottom, go up. If you start from the top, it'll just get more tangled."

The mysterious hair mystery solved, Canada retrieved the comb, and gently began working it through her hair again.

"So as I was saying, and then it happened. Arthur—his face was so red, it was the sweetest thing—asked me on a date! All stuttering and everything. And that's why you're doing my hair. You make the cutest little braids. I don't know how you do it. You _have _to teach me. Are you sure you aren't a girl?"

Canada frowned, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. "Isn't he a little old for you…?"

America kicked her legs off the bed, humming nonsensically. "That _is _pedophilia, isn't it? Damn. Ah, China was older. It's just a couple centuries."

Canada shook his head, remembering China and America's little fling. That had been a relationship mostly comprised of passionate hate sex and heated arguments followed by hours of rough make outs, or calm, peaceful walks around Zen gardens and cute Hello Kitty merchandise. One second you'd think they were the couple of the year, the next…it had been an unstable relationship. Canada had been very pleased when they'd broken it off, even though afterwards America had gone through a depression and would do nothing but watch Jersey Shore and eat creamy, cold chocolate ice cream.

It wasn't as bad as her long relationship with _Russia. That _was just masochistic.

Literally.

Ahem.

Canada wound her bright blonde hair around his fingers, enjoying the warm, soft feeling. "Did you do something to your hair? It feels really nice and soft."

"Mmmm…" America let out a little moan of pleasure at the feeling. He chuckled; it always made him laugh, that euphoric feeling girls seemed to get out of people playing with their hair. Sure, it _felt _nice, but really…? "Oh, uh, yeah. I put this 10 stuff in my hair after my shower. It's really weird, but it's really nice, too." She sounded extremely sleepy and comfortable, and though he couldn't see it, her blue eyes slid shut as he worked on her hair.

"You don't usually pamper yourself like this." Canada couldn't help but add; his sister was always getting into dirt and stuff, tracking mud all around the house and running with the boys. The people at the firing range knew her by name. He couldn't help but smirk at how girly America was acting. "How does it feel to be a girl, Miss America?"

As he finished wrapping the little Union Jack bow around the end of her braid, he realized that she had been very quiet for the past couple minutes. He gently nudged her back. "America?"

She nearly fell forwards; he had to jump to catch her. America let out a little snore, and Canada realized—eyes wide—that she had fallen asleep. He stared for a couple seconds, before letting out a soft laugh.

That's right. America had been super busy all week, trying to keep up with work so she'd be free today. And now it had taken its toll on his exhausted sister. His soft smile suddenly flipped. _What am I going to tell Arthur? _

"Hello, Matthew, Alli—oh, my."

Canada turned around, and found himself face to face with a very surprised England, who was carrying a bunch of ruffled roses in one hand. He was dressed casually in a pair of nice jeans and a clean polo shirt, and his hair looked like it had been styled to be ruffled and handsome.

"I-I'm sorry. I was—ah—doing her hair, and she just…" He waved a hand aimlessly, trying to figure out what to say. "She's been busy all week; she was really excited for today. I'm sorry." Canada looked at his sister, not really finding it in his heart to be able to wake her up. "Can you—let her sleep? I'm sure tomorrow can work. She's—"

"I understand." England smiled understandingly, and gave Canada the bundle of roses. "Put those in some water, please. They're ever so nice. I'll put Allison to bed."

Canada was suddenly reminded of the times when he and America lived in a house together, and England would always pick them up and put tuck them in whenever they fell asleep. He nodded, and headed towards the kitchen while England very gently picked up his sleeping date, bridal style, and carried her to her bedroom. He gently kissed her forehead, placed her on the bed, and turned to leave—only to jump when a strong hand came up and grabbed his wrist.

"Stay…?" A voice whispered. For some reason, England didn't really think she'd woken up.

"Okay, love."

England carefully sat down on the bed, and tucked his feet under the covers. Tentatively, he reached over and placed an arm around her shoulders, blushing when she nuzzled his chest. America opened one of her big blue eyes at him, grinned sleepily, and immediately lost consciousness again. He grinned back, and shut his eyes. Just for a second.

But it was so warm and comfortable, and he hadn't been getting the best sleep either. Seconds later, he, too, was dragged under.

When Canada came back not five minutes later, he couldn't help but sigh softly at the sight. "They're so cute." He muttered. After several seconds of indecision, he put down the vase of roses, and ran off to find a camera.

_**What the hell is wrong with me? **_

**Fluff. Fluff! I don't do fluff. WHY did I write this? **

**Angel-chan Desu, I blame you. You requested an ACE family thing, UkxFem!Us, and you spawned this.**

***Facepalms***

**Meanwhile, my writer's block has mostly disappeared! I couldn't believe how easy it was to write this chapter, and the ideas are coming strong! **

**So next, a continuation of SMUG K. Since so many of you loved it. And then a World War 1 thing, since my friend outside of fanfiction requested it. **

**But I want to thank TribalGirl, Vampchick2010, Angel-chan Desu (You've reviewed a lot of other chapters, too, so thanks), west carson girl, and pengirl100and2 (You've also reviewed a lot, thanks) for reviewing! **

**Meanwhile, maybe I'll be brave enough to post that new Young Justice story. I just finished the first chapter, but I'm all nervous about it. **

**And also, I have the first chapter of that MASSIVE Hetalia project I was talking about done. Who wants a preview of it? **

**IceEckos12**


	39. Nightmare

**Diclaimer: I've noticed that a lot of people make fun of disclaimers. But when you think about it, the disclaimer is kind of a show of respect. If I were to say that I owned Hetalia, I would be disrespecting Hiramura-sama. **

**So I can proudly say that I don't own Hetalia. **

"Get the hell in the car."

"_What?" _Arthur sputtered, staring at the silver truck—he couldn't tell what type, he'd never been a car fan.

The man—a tall blonde with bright blue eyes looked nervous and jumpy as he spoke, glancing around, "Listen, I know this sounds crazy, but there's something chasing me. And you'll definitely be collateral damage. So please just get _the hell in the car." _

Arthur's mouth opened ever so slightly in surprise; the only reason he wasn't causing a big fuss right now was because he was simply so _surprised _that this complete _stranger _had just walked up to him and told him to get in the car—not even a _please, thank you—_and now he was acting like a complete nutter, glancing back and forth as though he expected something to actual come up and attack him. Finally, he regained his voice. "No."

The man looked like he kind of expected that response, but tried again anyway, glancing nervously over his shoulder all the while, "Please! We don't have time for—"

"Listen, I am not getting in the car with some _strange _man who _appears _to be delusional! If you think I will you're—"

Arthur was cut off by a loud, bone-chilling shriek, and the sound of something popping. The man sent a terrified look over his shoulder, blue eyes wide with panic. When he looked back, Arthur had already scrambled into the passenger seat of the car.

The man blinked in surprise, but a relieved grin was slowly spreading across his face. "Okay, let's blow this popsicle stand!"

In a show of surprising physical ability, the man vaulted over the top of the truck and slid smoothly into the car. His gloved hands quickly twisted the key, and the engine began purring like kitten.

There was another shriek. Arthur jumped, glancing around as the car peeled out of the grocery store parking lot. As they were riding down the road, the man finally introduced himself. "My name's Alfred. Alfred F. Jones. To prove to you that I'm not a stalker, I'm going to shake our tail and then drop you off somewhere inconspicuous."

Not quite sure what to think, Arthur just kept staring out the window, head spinning with questions. However, there was one question that needed his immediate attention:

"What sort of truck is this?"

"Chevy." Alfred said dismissively.

And so the interrogation began.

"What's following us?"

The response was somewhat confusing. "Do you believe in ghosts and magic crap?"

Arthur gave him an incredulous look. It took him a moment to respond, though. _If I actually say yes, will he think I'm a freak? _"Depends on who's asking." He said delicately.

"Well, I'm asking, and I believe in magic crap. I know you may think I'm absolutely crazy, but spirits are real and all. I'm serious." Alfred turned sharply around the corner, causing Arthur to slam into the wall. He let out a loud curse, and righted himself indignantly.

"Watch it!"

Alfred didn't spare him a second glance, just muttered a half-hearted 'sorry' and pulled into another sharp turn, forcing Arthur against the door again. He let out a loud shout, and tried to right himself, cursing Alfred's terrible driving. "I said _watch it, _damn you! Agh—" This time he was thrown practically into Alfred's lap. The blond didn't bat an eyelash, just twisted the wheel again, forcing Arthur out of it. "Are you even _listening to me?" _

"No, I'm trying to ditch our tail." He finally glanced over, and sent Arthur a blinding grin. "Can we talk later? These guys are pretty fast!"

Arthur gave up trying to reason with him, and instead slumped tiredly against the seat.

He just wanted his tea. He had gone to the store to _get his damn tea. _To _calm down, _in theory. And now he was in the car with a maybe-psycho who claimed that they were being tracked down by a _ghost. _That didn't exactly fill him with any confidence.

"Right." Arthur glanced over his shoulder, and clenching the armrests as they violently turned another corner. He didn't see anything remotely spectral, but he supposed that he wasn't _able _to see the ghost things. Whatever. "Okay. Okay. I'm in a car that is not mine. I'm in a car that is not mine, with a crazy person. I'm in a car that is not mine, with a crazy person, being chased by a ghost. I'm in a car that is not mine, with a crazy person, being chased by a ghost, and I don't even know where we're going—hey," He turned back to Alfred. "Where _are _we going?"

Alfred shrugged. "I dunno."

"_What?" _Arthur all but shrieked. Suddenly, he wanted to start tearing his hair out. "You don't even know where we're going? What madness is this?"

He shrugged. "I'm just trying to _lose _them, how am I supposed to know where I'm going?"

Arthur gave him a wide-eyed stare, mouth agape with shock that _anyone _could be so _stupid! _What _idiot _could not know where they were going? The ghosts didn't seem _that _dangerous, if there even _were _ghosts; after all, they hadn't caught up with the little truck, had they?

Finally—_finally—_Alfred slowed down a little, and let out a soft sigh of relief. "Okay, it looks like we lost them." He glanced up at the sun, which was slowly dipping in the sky. "Hm…I wonder if I can make it to the church on time…" Suddenly he realized he still had another passenger in the car. "Oh, sorry you had to get all caught up in this. I can drop you off a block from your house, if you like. Wait, hold on—"

He suddenly reached into his back pocket, and withdrew a non-descript looking spray bottle, and began spritzing it all over Arthur before he could say anything. The poor Brit let out a soft gasped, and tried to shake the water out of his hair. "What the hell?"

"Sorry. Just a precaution. To make sure that if they came, you wouldn't get hurt." Alfred grinned widely. "Now come on, we need to hurry! If the sun goes down to quickly and I can't make it to the church—"

He glanced over at the sun again, and his bright smile flipped very, very quickly. "Uh—listen, uh—"

"Arthur." He hissed angrily. "My name is Arthur."

"Right, sorry." He smiled nervously. "Do you think you could—I dunno—get out here, so I can step it to the church?"

"I don't even know where I _am." _Arthur snarled, folding his arms across his chest. "Let alone how to get home."

"D'you have family?" Alfred asked, slowing the truck to a crawl, and nervously glanced at the ever-receding sun. "Someone you can call?"

Arthur glanced away. "They're all overseas."

That was the moment Alfred realized he seemed to have an English accent; he flushed ever so slightly, and turned back to the front. "Right. Um…could you—would you mind coming to the church with me? It's just until tomorrow…you know, until it's safe."

Arthur didn't want to spend another moment with this man, but the way Alfred kept glancing around fearfully—and that noise he'd heard in the parking lot…besides; he didn't mind spending a little time in the church. They had always been kind to him, especially when he got into another argument with his unruly older brothers. No, he certainly didn't mind the church.

"Okay." Arthur scowled. "It doesn't look like I have another choice."

And that was when the unthinkable happened; several blocks away from the doors of the church, the truck broke down.

It stopped with a putter, and then a soft _click, _and then it just died, like a cat that had just cut off purring. The beautiful silver truck stopped gently, leaving its two occupants paralyzed in horror. Alfred swallowed, and stoked the engine. "_C'mon, babe, work. Please, baby, don't fail me now." _He worked it again, and suddenly seemed to realize the futility of his actions. "C'mon, we got to start walking if we want to beat sundown." Then he glanced at the sky. "Uh…maybe we should start running."

Arthur wasn't quite sure he wanted to start running, but for some reason Alfred seemed adamant. However, they only traveled a few steps before Alfred stopped. "We'll never make it."

Arthur stopped too. "Okay. So what now?"

Alfred bent down, and pulled out a small piece of chalk. "Watch her step," He muttered, before drawing a wide circle around the both of them. Then, he removed that strange bottle from his pocket again, and sprayed the circle, and put it away again. Then, he whipped out a knife, pressed it to his finger, and carefully put a droplet of on the edge.

Only a second later, something crashed into the air next to his head.

Arthur let out a shriek and backed away from the edge, only to bump into Alfred, who grabbed a hold of his shoulders and kept him from moving any more. "Calm down! You need to _calm down, _dammit! If you break the circle, nothing's stopping them from coming in and attacking us!"

He watched in horror as some sort of _nightmare _stalked around the chalk circle, growling and spitting angrily. It had the appearance of some sort of dog, though it couldn't _possibly _be that, because it had no fur, and its skin was pitch black and rippling with muscles. It had an elongated snout, and vicious teeth poked over the lips, acid spit dripping from its jowl, pavement sizzling sickeningly, leaving the smell of burnt tar and rubber.

And there wasn't just _one _of them; there were dozens.

And then a tall, blond man appeared in front of them, smiling widely.

"Hello Alfred."

**Does it ever bother you when you get a _backstory? _Like, when you get a book, and they give you the character's background before they start into all the action?**

**Screw this, I say! Who needs a backstory? **

**Anyway...lol.**

**IceEckos12**


	40. Past, Present, and Future

**Howdy! I dont' own APH. :)**

"_Come in." _

_Arthur swallowed heavily, and slowly walked into the room. He was met with James's grim, unsmiling face. With bated breath, he walked over to the chair and plopped into it, feeling very much like a school boy again, in trouble for kicking his older brother. Again. Arthur smiled meekly. Even though he was an adult, it still didn't make him any less nervous. _

"_Listen, Mr. Kirkland, you have a very promising future."_

_His heart sank. _

"_Please," He whispered, staring into the ground. All his brothers had gone to this school—if he didn't, it would bring shame to his family! _

"_Keep listening, Arthur." James still wasn't smiling. "You are a very bright young man, and it would be my pleasure to have you at this school."_

_His heart jumped into his throat. He didn't dare speak. _

"_But I'm sorry. You can't come to this college. I know your brothers very well, they all did magnificent. I'm sure you would've done the same. But there just isn't any space. You understand, of course?" He didn't look sorry at all. _

_Arthur couldn't breathe. He'd been told, every single day of his life, that he had to go to this school. This _exact _school. What could he do now? Go home, tail between his legs in shame? No. It wasn't an option. _

_Arthur stood, and said stonily, "Of course. I'm sorry for bothering you. Have a good day." _

_And then he walked out. He didn't look back once. _

America had seemed like a very good idea at the time. Now he was sincerely regretting it.

"Derfla." Alfred growled, glaring up at the blond man, whom—Arthur realized with a start—looked _exactly _like Alfred. Except for the fact that his eyes were a brilliant red instead of glimmering, sky blue. "Nice of you to show your face, you coward."

He blinked at the strange name. _Derfla?_

Derfla smiled. "Nice to see you too, Al. I see you have a new pet." His vermillion-colored eyes swept over Arthur, lips curled in an amused smile. Arthur shivered. There was something wrong about Alfred's look-alike.

"Leave him alone, D." Alfred growled, arms tightening unconsciously around him. Arthur did his best to loosen his arms as he was crushed; Alfred was unusually strong. "He's completely mortal. Not related to me in the slightest."

Suddenly it seemed as though Derfla was about to become very mean; his eyes glittered menacingly. "That's what you said about Matthew."

That hit a nerve—a very, very sore nerve. "Don't you dare mention him! At all! He has—had—nothing to do with this!" Alfred very nearly dropped Arthur as he stood up. The Brit had to scramble aside as Alfred stalked forward, barely inches away from the chalk border. "Nothing!"

"Hm…I suppose that's what you said as I killed him, isn't it?" Derfla smirked again. Alfred blanched. "Poor big brother, trying to protect his little one. What do you think Matthew thought as his older brother murdered him?"

Alfred screamed. It occurred to Arthur, very suddenly, that if the chalk circle were to break they would both be dead. He lunged for Alfred's legs, just barely managing to keep him from stepping over. Alfred kept screaming in fury; "DON'T YOU DARE! DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!"

Derfla laughed. "It's your fault, you know? There you were, two little magic users. You were always more powerful than him, and you knew it. So you decided to show him the spell, didn't you? Isn't that right? You knew it was forbidden. But you got yourself ripped in half, and then the other you killed him. The guilt eating you alive, from the inside out." The laughter was high-pitched and cold; a thrill of horror passed through ARthur. "You foolish boy!"

Alfred let out another primal scream, twisting in Arthur's grasp. It was all he could do not to let go.

Derfla just kept laughing. Alfred kept screaming. Arthur just closed his eyes and tried to calm the infuriated man.

"No!" Alfred shouted, his feet kicking about. "No, let me…" Derfla began to vanish into the shadows, still smirking widely. "NO! Let me go, I can't let him escape! Please…" He began to sob, slowly sinking to the floor. "Let me go…"

"Alfred, please." Arthur whispered, reaching out to hug him—he really, really looked like he needed a hug right now…it was an act of cruelty for the Alfred look-a-like to mention his brother like that. Considering Alfred's reaction… "He was provoking you. Please calm down."

"I loved him. My little brother…Mattie…" Alfred sobbed, putting his head into his hands. "I was—you know—trying to show off. We weren't supposed to do a spell that powerful, but I…I thought it wouldn't work, since we're not fully grown, and we didn't have the right kind of intent. I just wanted to show off…because I knew it. I was so stupid. So, so stupid…" He trailed off, letting out another choked sob. "And it—it—"

"It worked." Arthur said quietly.

"It killed him—I watched him—me—kill him, and I…every Halloween..." Alfred leaned in closer to Arthur. "He comes…"

Arthur didn't quite know what to say; he'd never been very good at comforting other people—his own emotions were hard enough to deal with. All his brothers were still alive—ornery and annoying, yes, but still alive. He couldn't actually imagine killinghis brother, or even _watching _himself kill his brother. It was unthinkable and…traumatic. And he was no psychiatrist. He couldn't _possibly _help Alfred, especially because he couldn't imagine what he was going through.

But Alfred appeared to be made of stronger stuff. He breathed in a long, shuddering breath, and gave Arthur a watery smile. "Sorry about that…it's just, it was my fault, you know? Mattie was like my other half." He nodded towards the nightmarish dogs still circling. "They're all…I mean, they're all mindless beasts, but…they were once people."

Arthur gasped. "P-people?" They looked more doglike than human—and not even that. They were _monsters. _

"Well, sort of. Derfla took the brains out of dead people, enslaved them, and put them into the hellhounds. See that one?" He pointed to a hound with poisonous purple eyes. "That was…my brother. He was Mattie. These are all the people who died because I let Derfla out."

Arthur, horrified, looked around, counting. _1…2…3…4…5…_ There were more, he could tell, out of sight, they're skins rippling with muscle and black skin...it was too terrible. He didn't dare speak.

"I always…_always _try to save them. But they never listen…never. But I'm kind of glad they follow me around—" Arthur turned his horrified, pasty face to stare at Alfred, "—it reminds me of my mistakes…" He trailed off. "Actually," Alfred turned his red-rimmed eyes to stare curiously at Arthur. "Why did you follow me? You seemed pretty adamant about not going with me."

"There was a crashing noise." Arthur said thoughtfully, trying to remember exactly what happened. "It was very convincing."

Alfred's mouth dropped. "No normal human has ever heard them before, especially during the daytime…"

Arthur shifted uncomfortably under Alfred's scrutinizing gaze. "So what if I can? I've always been able to hear weird stuff, there's nothing _wrong _with that, is there?"

Alfred's eyes widened. "Can you _see _them?"

Slowly, he shook his head. Looking relieved, Alfred slumped against the ground. "That's…good. That's good. It means you've got a strong magical signature, but not strong enough to actually see anything, or touch anything. Unless it's nighttime, of course—everything becomes clean at night. No, not clean. Clear. Everything is so…clear. During the daytime, they're not as strong, so they can't touch you unless you have a really, really strong magical sig."

Arthur frowned softly. "And you do?"

Alfred stared at him for a minute, and then let out a short laugh. "Okay, Artie, think of it like this. A hellhound—like one of those ugly bastards over there—they're a…machine gun, I guess. A normal human is a bow and arrow compared to them. Someone like you is a revolver."

"And what about you?"

"I suppose…" He looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm…a tank. I think. Yeah, that's what I am. Really powerful, really tough, but not as fast." Arthur could tell, without a doubt, that Alfred was grinning—he seemed to enjoy the idea of himself being something big and powerful.

"What was…" Arthur paused, unsure. "Matthew?"

Alfred froze. "I…he…was a bazooka. Not as powerful. Not as tough. Not as…"

Arthur sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, knowing now was the best time to change the subject. "Why does he call himself Derfla? It's really, really weird."

Obviously happy with the change of subject, Alfred looked over and gave Arthur an incredulous look. "You haven't figured it out? Say it backwards."

"Derfla…Alf—" Arthur stopped dead. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Hm. That's…interesting."

"That's what I said. Only, you know, I was screaming."

"What?"

"Never mind."

Arthur blinked. "There's so much I don't know about you. I've never met anyone who's as closed up as you."

He let out a soft, gentle laugh. "I like to keep it that way. Why don't we go to sleep, okay?"

Arthur stared out at the hellhounds, and then turned to look incredulously at Alfred. "How can you even _think _of sleeping with those things walking around you? They give me the shivers." And, just to prove his point, he shuddered violently.

"The night passes very slowly when you're terrified," Alfred grinned at Arthur's expression. "You can stay up as late as you like, but I am not wasting _any _sleep over this situation. Okay? G'night."

Arthur watched, bemused, as Alfred turned over and curled into a ball. "So we're just going to sleep here? In the middle of the street?"

"Yup."

"Can they get through?"

Alfred shifted. "Nope."

"Are you sure?"

"Good night, Arthur."

"_Are you sure?" _His voice became more insistent.

"I'm completely positive, as long as some idiot doesn't come and mess up my circle. Now good night."

There was a long, peaceful pause.

"How long will they stay here?"

Alfred groaned.

Arthur fell asleep seconds later.

_He supposed it was for the best he'd never gotten into that pompous, fancy English school. Because then he would've never met Alfred—who became a very good friend of his. Arthur couldn't bear to let him deal with every Halloween by himself, and had decided that Alfred could use a roommate to keep him in line. Thing happened; lives were lost, Arthur nearly got killed, and Alfred just cried. But in the end, it all worked out. Except for the fact that Alfred kept bringing all these girls home, which he really didn't like at all, but they were all practically throwing themselves onto him. This all ended abruptly when Arthur became extremely angry and snogged him in public. _

_Violently. _

_They never did get rid of Derfla. They were just not afraid of him anymore. That, and there was that one Halloween where Arthur stepped outside of the church they were in and punched the demon in the nose. He left them alone after that incident. _

_Alfred likes to brag about his little, 'Spit-fire Brit'. To everyone and everything that will sit still long enough to hear the tale of their meeting. _

_Arthur did get to meet Mattie, once. The little Canadian had come back as a ghost to see his brother one last time, and—well—was quite surprised to find that his brother had settled down into a tank-like house with a very confusing interior that would've left the best of men reeling. _

_Arthur is currently working as a peer mediator in the middle school nearby—he says that his meeting with Alfred 'inspired' him. _

_Alfred is working in the Witness Protection Program. He says he likes giving people double identities—says it makes him feel like he's not the only one anymore, whatever that means. _

**So I looked back at the last chapter, and I'm like, 'WTF was I thinking at that exact moment?' Because I'd promised to write the second half of Smug K, and I hadn't responded to any of my reviews. Also, I was just acting plain _weird. _ **

**All I can say is that it was probably really late and I was under a lot of stress. I kinda...snap, if I get like that. But now that school's out, I can focus on my big-super-massive-project! I'll post a preview at the bottom. Haha. Anyway, so I'm going to post 5 more chapters after this one-the new SMUG K, Fairytales, Detective FAIL, Bite me, and Flop, before going into a temporary hiatus. Unless, of course, I get any requests. But otherwise, this is it. I'll be completing this story at 100 shots, but it'll be on temp hiatus so I don't have to worry about it while writing the really big project. But seriously, if you have any requests, let me know now. Because as soon as I post Flop, it's going temp hiatus. Capiche? **

**Reviews (For chapters 38 and 39): **

**pengirl100and2: Aw, thanks! I thought it was cute, too...though I'm not that good at writing cute...**

**Vampchick2010: I'm a big USUK fan, either way. I'm glad that I 'ave managed to infect you with the bug. It's loads of fun. :) Oh, and thanks for being the only person to review chapter 39! **

**Angel-chan desu: No prob. I was having major writer's block at that point, but you made it all better. :) And the project preview is at the bottom! **

**Alright, here is the very first part of the prologue of the ultra-super-massive project I've been working on! Enjoy. **

_Hello._

_If you're listening to this, either I'm dead or you just stumbled on one of my best kept secrets—somehow. I don't know how, and I don't want to know. _

_Either way, you're going to know the truth. _

_If I'm dead, it means that the worst case scenario has come to pass, and you're going to need everything you can get to prepare. In the following message, I've included everything you need to know about the growing threat. If you just stumbled upon this and I'm alive, then…well…I suppose this is either a warning or simply a super-heroic tale of kick-ass! _

_Now, where should I start? _

_Let me think…I guess the beginning should work. _

_My name is Alfred F. Jones. I also am the soul—and by soul, I mean walking, talking, hamburger-chowing essence—of the United States of America. _

_And here is my story. _

**:D**

**So what'd you think? **

**Thanks, **

**IceEckos12**


	41. SMUG K 2

**Don't own Hetalia. **

Alfred and Matthew had a very hard time settling into SMUG K.

First of all, they wouldn't let each other out of their sights for more than five seconds—at best. In fact, they were almost always in contact with each other; Matthew would always have one hand fisted Alfred's shirt, and the older brother would keep one arm wrapped around the younger. Also, Matthew didn't really communicate with everyone else; while Alfred's socializing skills were close to nil, Matthew's skills were even worse. He would only respond to Alfred, and even then, he never said a word. Alfred was slightly better, but only slightly. He never spoke unless directly addressed, and when he was addressed he always spoke hesitantly and quietly, as though afraid of being hit.

And then there were their relationship with the other kids, which were, again, close to nonexistent.

The two abused brothers freaked Ludwig out; with their big, buggy eyes and sallow skin, they painted quite the creepy picture, and poor amnesiac Ludwig wasn't used to dealing with such tortured peers. The very sight of them, shivering and trembling, sent shudders up his spine. And, similarly, the two brothers were actually quite frightened of Ludwig; with his sharp, flinty blue eyes and his muscled arms, it wasn't a surprise they were nearly terrified of him.

Their relationship with Feliciano was slightly better; he was a naturally cheerful and kind teen, even though he was crippled. His bright, warm smile attracted the boys like a moth to a flame—they'd never been shown a semblance of kindness. The Italian showed them kindness, and then some; he somehow put up with their traumatized attitude, and would patiently do his best to understand them, even when Alfred would stutter incessantly and Matthew would refuse to communicate at all.

Kiku was unsure what to think of the two brothers; he was curious enough about them, but there was something unnerving about their eyes—eyes that held so much pain and fear. Also, neither Alfred nor Matthew really understood that much; when he showed them anime, they just got more confused. However, they actually seemed to like Kiku quite a bit; with his calm nature and graceful, gentle movements, they did not fear him as much as they feared others.

Their reactions to Francis were confusing and strange; one moment they seemed to be frightened of him, the next they were sitting in front of him, listening attentively to whatever he was saying. Matthew seemed to like Francis more than Alfred, though; Alfred still remained suspicious of him, even when Matthew would give him a tiny, rare little smile.

But what surprised everyone else the most was their relationship with Ivan. Most would've thought that they would be terrified of Ivan and his coldness, but it seemed just the opposite. Ivan turned into something of a big brother to them—they would run to him whenever they got truly scared, and he in turn would protect them with the viciousness of a mother bear. Perhaps they were attracted to his size—tall, wide, and comforting. Perhaps they were attracted by his attitude, which was mostly indifferent to their presence unless the brothers were threatened. Either way, they attached to Ivan and his quiet demeanor the best.

They also seemed to like Officer Kirkland quite a bit; whenever the police officer came to visit them, they would run up and wrap their arms around his legs, something of a small smile on their faces. He had _rescued _them from a life of pain and hurt—it was no wonder they nearly worshipped him. And he, in turn, seemed to like them as well. As a former member of the SMUG K, he understood—somewhat—how the brothers felt.

"Alfred, Matthew! It's time for your checkups!"

And then, of course, there were the doctor's appointments.

Which they hated. With a passion.

Since they'd missed so many shots, they had to get most of them all at once; Alfred took it as an assault, and would beg that only _he _be taken, and that they should leave Matthew alone.

(Usually after this, the nurses would be too sad/sympathetic to give them the checkups. The tortured boy's pleas pulled dangerously at their heartstrings.)

But they'd finally called in Officer Kirkland, since he seemed to be the only one they listened to.

"O-O-Officer—" Alfred backed away, giving the officer a terrified look, shielding Matthew as best he could with his thin body. He coughed heavily; Matthew gave him a concerned look, but the twin quickly recovered. "P-Please, no! Don't t-take Mattie!" His eyes began to fill with tears—tears of betrayal or tears of fear, he couldn't tell.

Arthur bent down closer to them, sighing as they flinched away. "Alfred, it's okay. I had to get shots when I was little, too. They make sure you don't get sick. You don't want Mattie getting sick, do you?" _Not to mention you might have a problem with your lungs, _he added silently.

Alfred looked over his shoulder at Matthew, who was cringing behind him. He noted Matthew's thin, pale face (ever since he had arrived at SMUG K, he understood that he and Matthew were scarily thin. For the first few weeks, Alfred had actually split his meal in half and given the other half to Matthew, even though they both got the same-sized meals.) And bit his lip, realizing that Officer Kirkland was probably right. "You g-got them too?"

Arthur grinned when he realized that they had just had a break-through. "Yes, I had to get them when I was a boy. I didn't like them either, but I still had to get them. I'll stay with you through the entire thing, okay?" He carefully extended his open hand to Alfred, vaguely pleased when the boy only flinched slightly, before reaching out to tentatively take his hand. The other arm was still firmly wrapped around Matthew, but it was still a start—the brothers didn't let _anyone _touch them.

Ivan poked his head around the corner, and blinked at the spectacle. His 'Mama Bear' sensors had been ringing klaxon bells in his head, but now everything seemed to be okay. Still…he ghosted around the corner, and appeared next to Arthur silently. "Hello, Officer Kirkland. I trust everything is okay?"

Arthur nearly shrieked in surprise, stiffening slightly. _Dear god, Ivan freaks me out…_ Strangely enough, neither Alfred nor Matthew seemed particularly surprised; in fact, they both started giggling at Arthur's reaction. Ivan smiled shyly at the pair, unused to people feeling no fear of him.

"Oh—yes, I'm just taking Alfred and Matthew to their doctor's appointments. Ivan, tell them you had to get shots, too."

Ivan nodded cheerfully at them, closing his eyes happily. "Da! They did not hurt at all."

There was the distinct _squeaky-squeaky-squeaky _noise of Feliciano's chair rolling down the hall, followed by the loud _clap _noises of Ludwig's boots hitting the floor. They both walked past the door—before Feliciano paused, glancing into the room. "Ooo! Ludwig, push me into there! I want to say hi to Alfred and Matthew!"

Ludwig sighed fondly at the boy bouncing impatiently in the chair, and carefully backed up and wheeled him into the room, flinching at the sight of the skinny brothers.

"Alfred! Matthew!" Feliciano waved.

Alfred had a mildly frightened look on his face—he was still a little frightened of Feliciano's exuberance. But a second later, he shook himself, and said quietly, "H-Hi Feli."

Matthew—who had buried his face into Alfred's shirt when the Italian had wheeled in—looked up shyly, and waved hesitantly. When Feliciano beamed happily at the younger boy, his eyes widened and he buried his face back into Alfred's shirt, face a tomato red color.

"Hello, Feliciano." Arthur said kindly, smiling slightly. He'd always felt sorry for the poor boy—he always seemed so nice, but he'd always had the worst luck. It was nice that Ludwig and Kiku hung around him; no doubt the naturally social boy would've become quickly depressed without them. "Alfred and Matthew were just going to go their doctor's appointment."

"Ooo!" Feliciano clapped his hands together happily, startling Ludwig. Alfred and Matthew flinched instinctively. Ivan and Arthur gave no outwards reaction. "I'm going in that direction anyway. Why don't we go together?"

Arthur nodded, reaching for Alfred's hand again. For a second it looked as though the little boy was going to flinch away—but he slowly, shyly reached for Arthur's hand. The officer glanced at Ivan. "Are you coming?"

"Da." Was the simple response.

"Okay." Arthur did his best to smile at him.

"Chop, chop, Ludwig!" Feliciano said happily, wiggling in his seat. "We don't want to keep Lovino and Grandpa waiting!"

Ludwig groaned loudly. "Not your _crazy _family again…"

They wheeled out of the room, Arthur and the others close behind.

"They are not _so _bad!" The Italian responded.

"Your brother threw a tomato at me last time I saw him!"

"But Grandpa—"

"Started talking about all the girls he'd ever had sex with. I do _not _want to hear another _word _about Lucy's tits."

Feliciano laughed brightly at Ludwig as he fumed, while Arthur chuckled silently behind him. He'd actually met Feliciano's family, and what Ludwig said was not that far from the truth. He would go so far as to call Lovino bitchy, and his Grandfather perverted. But that had been a long time ago…

"—you can stop in to say hello." Arthur jerked back to reality, blinking when he heard Feliciano's voice. He guessed the context of the question quite easily.

"Well, yes, of course. I mean…Alfred, Matthew, would that be alright with you?" Arthur glanced down at the pair, who both stared up at him with wide eyes. Then, Alfred turned to Matthew and whispered something to him; the younger twin blinked his violet eyes, and slowly nodded.

Alfred smiled a tiny smile up at him. "Yeah, we'll be fine."

The moment was interrupted by Feliciano's happy cry. "Brother! Grandpa!"

The response: "My adorable little Feliciano! Come to Papa!" and, "Hey there idiot—hey, Gramps, don't _strangle _him!"

Alfred poked his head inside curiously, Matthew peering over his shoulder, as they both saw a strange spectacle; a tall, muscled man with curly brown hair hugging their good friend, with a Feliciano look-alike trying to pull him off, shrieking and screeching like an angry cat.

Ivan looked over the top of Alfred's head, and let out soft giggle at the sight. It caught the attention of the other occupants in the room; Feliciano's twin—Lovino—froze, arms still twisted around his Grandfather's neck, the Grandfather with his arms still clenched tight around Feliciano, and Feliciano himself, hanging in the air, secure in his Grandpa's tight embrace. He also looked like he was being strangled, and, being paralyzed waist down, could not escape.

They all turned to stare at the trio at the door.

Alfred and Matthew immediately turned red and tried to run away, but accidently ran into Ivan, who had been kol-ing intimidatingly. Ivan let out a startled gasp and fell to the floor with the two boys on top of him. He immediately tried to get up, which only served entangle them more, since Matthew and Alfred refused to let go of each other. Finally, Alfred lifted Matthew clear off Ivan in a surprising show of strength for such a tiny body.

They trio stared at each other, horrified—which was interrupted when they heard laughter. Feliciano's Grandfather was doubled over, great belly-shaking guffaws escaping him. Feliciano was laughing his soft tinkling laughter, while Lovino snickered rather inelegantly. Finally was Arthur chuckling away, hand pressed to his mouth in an attempt to stifle his laughter.

Alfred and Matthew, looked bewildered—they'd honestly expected to be punished for running into Ivan like that—but even the older boy was starting to laugh, more amused by the situation then _mad. _It was a relief to the twins, who'd been shaking like little leaves in fright.

"We…we're not there anymore." Alfred whispered to Matthew. "They're not going to hurt us. We shouldn't be scared."

"And who are these two little cuties?" A voice cooed—they turned, startled, to see Feliciano's grandfather staring warmly down at them. "Are you some of Feliciano's little friends?"

Matthew blushed and buried his face into Alfred's shirt, who was also blushing furiously. Shyly, he looked up at the older man and whispered, "Y-Yeah."

The Grandfather looked like he wanted to sweep in there and hug them, but decided against it—Feliciano had talked about the pair before, and how they were so terrified of being touched. "You two are so cute! You can just call me Grandpa Rome!"

Lovino sighed, and shoved his Grandfather's head aside. "Don't listen to him, midgets. He's a bad influence." Suddenly he stopped and stared, realizing who they were. "You're…you're the basement brothers, right?"

Bewildered, Alfred and Matthew stared at each other, then back up at Lovino. They didn't have a clue _what _he was talking about.

"Don't be so rude, Lovino." Feliciano scolded, having recovered from his strangulation. "Yes, these are them."

Lovino looked fascinated; he opened his mouth to say something, probably something potentially offensive. Arthur decided now was the best place to step in. "Well, we best be going. These two need to go to their Doctor's appointment. If you'll excuse us…"

Arthur reached for Alfred's hand. The little boy hadn't been paying attention, and flinched at Arthur's touch, before slowly relaxing into it. The twin reached for his other half, who instinctively pressed closer to him. Ivan, who had been mostly silent, rose to his feet to join them.

Disappointed, Lovino's mouth snapped shut. He shrugged, before saying, "Well, okay. See you."

Feliciano waved pleasantly. "Have fun at your doctor's appointment!"

"Bye little cuties!" Grandpa Rome's shout followed them down the hall as they left.

* * *

><p>"Besides being severely malnourished, dehydrated, lice-infested…" The doctor stared down at his clipboard, listing all the problems with the twins. "No shots…surprisingly enough, no worms either…Matthew has an ear-infection, and selective muteness. Alfred has bronchitis…and I suggest you keep him here for a few days. His immune system is terrible, so he can't fight it off very well. There's a possibility it will turn into pneumonia…" He sighed, and put down his pen. "Alfred also has a large amount of scars. Matthew has a few, but not as many. Also…Alfred's wrist was broken, but it healed wrong."<p>

Arthur bit his lip.

"But we can fix that. God, we can fix it. But it's going to take a lot—_a lot—_of therapy to get them mentally stable. They're doing better than they were weeks ago, but still. It's going to be a long road to recovery." The doctor's face was quite grim. "I've never…seen anything like this. They're such sweet boys, too. They've gone through so much…"

"Can I see them?" He asked anxiously, wanting to see the two little boys he'd come to consider his little siblings.

"Of course. We were as gentle with them as possible, but they were still quite distressed." The doctor led Arthur down towards the door on the left, and opened it. The two brothers were sitting quietly on the bed, huddled as close together as possible. Their little arms were covered with band aids, a testament to their most recent battle with the shots.

Their eyes lit up when they saw Arthur.

"Officer!" Alfred said brightly, and then coughed into his hand. Matthew rubbed his back, before smiling shyly up at Arthur. "They gave us Scoby-Doot band aids!" He proudly displayed his Scooby-Doo band aids to Arthur, who tried not to laugh at the pronunciation. He walked over to them and rested on his knees in front of them, looking up at their faces.

"See? Was that so bad?" He smiled.

"Shots are evil." Alfred whispered, putting his arm around Matthew, who shuddered and leaned in.

Arthur wasn't sure whether to laugh or be very, very sad. "Is that so?"

He nodded vigorously. Then, he paused, and looked unsurely up at Arthur. "Is it…is it true we'll have to stay here for a long time?"

Arthur sighed. This was the last thing he wanted to talk to them about, but it needed to be said. "Listen, Alfred…the truth is, your wrist was broken."

Alfred blinked, and nodded. "Yeah. It's all better now, though."

"But it healed wrong, so you'll have to stay here for a while and get it fixed. And…you have a cold. A very bad cold. And we need to make sure you're getting better."

Alfred looked horrified. "But what about Mattie?" He squeaked—and started coughing.

Arthur waited for him to finish before continuing. "You both are severely malnourished—you haven't been getting enough to eat. They're going to make sure you both are healing right, Matthew included."

Matthew glanced over at Alfred, who was frowning ever-so-slightly, then back at Arthur. He looked like he wanted to say something—Arthur held his breath—but then decided against it, leaning into Alfred again, comforting him. Alfred glanced over and smiled.

"Okay. If Mattie's here, then everything's okay!"

_Several days later, Alfred wasn't getting better. He just got worse. And then pneumonia set in._

_As the doctor said, Alfred's immune system was very weak. They didn't know whether or not he would survive. _

_All the SMUG K members felt the absence of their newest twins, because Matthew wouldn't leave Alfred's side. _

_For a while, it seemed as though Alfred were going to die. _

"Alfred…please wake up…"

Alfred started to stir under his blankets, feeling very strange. His face was covered with something—a mask?

There was a soft, rasping breath. "Al…"

His eyes widened. "Ma—" But his voice was cut off. His throat felt so dry…

"Alfred!" Matthew's eyes widened, and he flung himself on top of his brother. "I thought…I thought you were going to die!"

"You're talking, Matt…" Alfred rasped. "Mattie…"

Matthew just started to sob.

"Morning, sunshine." His blue eyes whipped to look at the owner of the voice. His eyes caught on Arthur, who was leaning against the door, smiling tiredly. There were deep circles under his eyes; it was obvious that he hadn't been getting much sleep. "You gave us quite a scare. Matthew was really worried about you." He paused. "We all were."

Alfred opened his mouth to respond, when a chorus of voices interrupted prevented him from saying anything.

"Alfred!"

"_Mon cher Alfred!" _

"Kolkolkolkol…"

"I brought snacks, aru!"

"Alfred-san…"

Ludwig, the ever stoic, didn't say a word as they all filed in, filling the blank white room with a cacophony of sounds.

"Everyone…" Alfred's eyes began to fill with tears.

And as the little boy began to cry, they all stared at each other.

"What did we do?"

* * *

><p>"Dude, Mattie!" Alfred leapt over the couch, burger in one hand, backpack in the other. "We're going to be late! C'mon!"<p>

"Don't be so impatient." Matthew scolded, walking gracefully through the living room, his hockey bag secured firmly on his back. "Francis and the Axis always wait for us!"

"Ivan and Yao never do." He rolled his eyes, and stuffed his sandwich in his mouth. "Hrr uff, geff oh!"

"Okay, okay!" Matthew jumped onto Alfred's back, looping his arms around his brother's neck and grinning when he grunted through his sandwich. "Don't talk with your mouth full!"

"Boys!" Arthur called, coming from the kitchen. He had his spatula in one hand, and he was wearing ruffled apron. "Don't forget your lunches!"

"Chill, dad." Alfred waved his hand languidly, nearly catching Matthew in the face. "We got them, we got them."

"Good." He huffed, and folded his arms in front of him. "First day of high school." He looked to the ceiling, and shook his head. "Come here and give me a hug before you go."

Alfred rolled his eyes but complied anyway, Matthew reaching around his neck to get Arthur as well.

"Have a fun day at school, boys." Arthur smiled tearfully, stepping back from the twins.

"Aw, dad...don't get all sappy on us now!" Alfred grinned and waved, ignoring Arthur's angry squawk.

"Bye Dad!" Matthew called, just as the door slammed.

Arthur stared at the closed door, and smiled bitterly. "Bye, boys…"

**:) **

**Heartwarming ending...I dunno, though. **

**Anyway, here's the first of five oneshots leading up to the temporary Hiatus. Unless, of course, someone requests something more. And no one commented on the big project, and only one person reviewed that chapter...I guess it wasn't that good. Oh well. :(**

**Dedicated to Cat in the Fedora Hat: OMG THANKS FOR BEING THE 100TH REVIEWER! You're review made me smile. :) I might write another one. Actually, I was thinking of doing that. Just not now. **

**Vampchick2010: :') You're the only one who review my last chapter. And I'm glad you liked it. **

**So I is slightly sad from the lack of reviews...but it doesn't matter. I wasn't getting that many reviews in the beginning anyway. **

**Haha...enough of me bitching. Anway, thanks for reading!**

**IceEckos12**


	42. Fairytales

**I don't own Hetalia. If I did...hahahaha...anyway.**

"Ludwig!"

He grunted, and kept sanding.

"Luuuuuudwiiiiiiiiiig!"

He twitched, highly annoyed.

"Please don't be mad, Ludwig! I thought you _liked _pasta!"

Ludwig finally snapped, and slammed his sanding block on the table. "That does not give you a good reason to order _7 boxes _and then _drop _it off at my house!"

He had been just a bit too harsh for the sensitive Italian. Feliciano's eyes began to fill up with tears, and his chin began to wobble.

Ludwig recoiled, before sighing and rubbing the back of his head. "No, ah…I'm sorry. I'm not mad. Just a little frustrated. Warn me next time, please. Gilbert will never let me live this down."

For some reason, this explanation seemed to appease Feliciano—even if Ludwig did something that truly angered or saddened his best friend, he always seemed to forgive him. The Italian smiled tearfully. "Oh, thank you Ludwig! I swear I will never, ever bring pasta into your house again!"

"I never said that." Ludwig said quickly. Because there had been this one time where Feliciano had brought pasta in, and had made something delicious out of wurst, beans and pasta. He didn't quite remember what it was called, but it had been wonderful. "A little pasta at a time is fine."

Feliciano's smile widened, and he nodded happily. "Of course, Luddy!"

He grunted. "Don't call me that."

"Okay!" Feliciano's smile never wavered.

Ludwig smiled fondly at him; as annoying as his best friend could be, he always knew how to make him grin. With another soft sigh he set his sanding block back in his toolbox, snapped the lid shut, and put it on top of the shelf. Then, he carefully moved the half-finished desk into a corner and threw a tarp over it. "C'mon," He said to Feliciano. "Let's go upstairs."

"Okay!" Feliciano responded cheerfully, and followed him up the basement steps as Ludwig climbed to the first floor.

Ludwig opened the door, and turned to let Feliciano through first—

Only to be tackled by something large and pale.

"Your awesome older brother is back from college!" Gilbert crowed, not caring that he'd just sent them both on a one-way trip to the bottom of the stairs.

"G-Gilbert—!" Ludwig teetered sickeningly, trying to regain his balance before they fell down and broke their necks on the basement floor.

The forgotten Feliciano reacted a second later; he reached out and placed two steadying hands on Ludwig's back. Surprising enough that he actually went to help the falling pair, but even more shocking was the fact that he _could _stop them, considering his stick-thin body; no one had ever expected him to have any strength in those skinny arms of his.

Neither the brothers noticed this, however; they were both too focused on each other.

"What are you _doing?" _Ludwig hissed, shoving his brother off of him. "You could've gotten us both killed!" He seemed to realize that Feliciano was behind him. "You could've gotten Feliciano killed, too!" He turned around to address the Italian. "Are you okay?"

Feliciano smiled shakily. "S-Si, Ludwig. I'm fine. Are you—?"

He broke off when his eyes caught Gilbert's. They both stared at each other, red boring into caramel brown. Gilbert's eyes narrowed angrily, while Feliciano's eyes widened fearfully. However, neither of them seemed to be able to move.

Ludwig looked back and forth, and suddenly seemed to realize that something was going on. "Do you two…know each other?"

Ludwig's voice broke the spell. There was a whirl of action—a sharp cry, _"Angel!"_—a swirl of feathers, the sound of ripping clothes—the glint of something metal—Gilbert leaping forward, _knife_—Feliciano crouched down low, _wings—_

And then he was flying.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUGH!"

At least it had been a manly scream.

Feliciano tightened his arms around Ludwig's midsection. "Please calm down! I can't fly like this!"

Ludwig looked towards the ground, seemed to realize they were flying very, _very _high, and stopped struggling. "What the hell—what's—I don't understand! Feliciano! Put me down _right now!_"

"Okay, okay!" Feliciano angled towards the forest, heading for a rocky outcropping at the top of a hill.

As soon as they touched down, Ludwig scrambled away, staring wide-eyed at his best friend.

The Italian was standing up straight and tall, though he looked mildly frightened as Ludwig's gaze swept over him. Most everything was the same; he was still wearing his casual/stylish clothes, still had the same auburn colored hair with liquid caramel-brown eyes, same olive-toned skin…only now he had _wings. _They were a pure white color, half-folded almost shyly behind him, glowing soft silver. When they'd been extended, Ludwig recalled, they'd been very long—he didn't know how long, but…

Dear God. His best friend had _wings. _

Okay, think rationally about this. His friend—his best friend…

There was no rational about this. There was no simple explanation. His best friend had _wings. _

"E-Explain." Ludwig demanded as steadily as he could. "N-Now. Explain now. Please."

Feliciano looked mildly relieved that Ludwig hadn't freaked out on him much—yet. But he folded his wings all the way shut and tucked them against his back. They were almost invisible now, except for the fact that the back of Feliciano's shirt was ripped, so he could still see the silvery glow.

"It's a…" Feliciano sighed. "Long story."

"We are here. We have time." He needed answers.

"Are you…sure you're okay?"

"Dammit, Feliciano!" Ludwig shouted. "You have—wings! Whatever you say now can't be much weirder than this!"

Feliciano cringed at Ludwig's harsh tone, but continued on bravely. "Um…I'm a half-angel."

It had been a weird day. Ludwig didn't doubt it for a second. "Half-angel?"

"Well, um…my mother, she was a human. But my father well…" Feliciano frowned delicately. "He was…a Fallen."

Ludwig stared in shock, feeling his mouth opening and closing like a beached fish. Even though he'd begun accepting the whole 'wings' thing, it was still a big thing to take in. "The Fallen…they're real?"

"Yes." Feliciano nodded, grimacing, which was so out of place on his normally blissful face. "My mother had fallen in love with a Fallen…but what she didn't know was that by being with one, she cursed herself." He sighed bitterly, wrapping his arms around himself. "She died. She…" His breath hitched in his throat, and a single tear streaked down his face.

Ludwig blinked at him, mouth partially open in surprise. His best friend—a half angel? He didn't believe in fairytales, never had—he thought fairytales were just an escape for other people, and that he didn't need an escape because he had too much work to do. But this was starting to sound more and more like some sort of fantasy story. Before he could think on the subject more, however, another choked sob drew him out of his thoughts.

Feliciano looked so alone, he realized with a start. As though the weight of the world was pressing down on his shoulders, and there was no one to hold his hand as it happened. And, Ludwig realized, he _was_ alone. There was no one else to go through what he was going through, no one else to know his hidden pain—Feliciano was more than a oblivious smile and vacant caramel eyes. Ludwig had been a fool not to notice it.

Even though his best friend was a half-angel, he was still his friend. His _best _friend. And right now it looked like his best friend seriously needed a hug.

Ludwig still felt very awkward doing it. Feliciano had always initiated hugs, and often called him as stiff as a board. Still, he would have to be better than nothing.

Feliciano's eyes shot open when he felt two strong, wiry arms wrap tentatively around him, encasing him in an awkward but obviously well-meaning hug. And suddenly, Feliciano didn't feel so lonely anymore—he still felt as though it were himself against the world, but…now he had someone else, who didn't care who or what he was.

He never should've doubted his best friend.

* * *

><p>"He took my brother, dammit!" Gilbert snarled into his communicator, doing his best to follow the trail that the Fallen had left behind—a trail of silver sparkles that only he could see. "He could be torturing him—I have to find him! This just got way to personal! So not <em>awesome!" <em>He yelped when he accidently stubbed his toe on a rock.

"Gilbert, you need to calm down." Antonio's soothing Spanish voice crackled over the speakers. "If you don't have a clear head, he'll take advantage of you."

"Besides," Francis said, "You told me they've been best friends for years. It is a possibility that the Fallen would feel some sort of…connection? I suppose, to your brother."

"But the Fallen will hurt him! He'll kill him! Those bastards don't feel any sympathy, _or _emotions!" Gilbert dodged a passing pedestrian, who gave him an odd look.

"I don't know…" Antonio said doubtfully. "Remember what happened with Alfred and that one angel he called—I think it was…the Britannica Angel? Or was it Arthur…?"

"He wasn't a Fallen." There was no possible way something like that could happen. "He was just your average old Angel."

He could practically feel the frown over the speaker, but it wasn't the usually tactful Antonio who responded. "You know that's not the truth, Gilbert." Francis said in his usual blunt manner. "Do try to think positively."

"One of them killed her." He whispered, closing his eyes, feeling the emotional wound throb. "If anyone deserved to live, it was her. What sort of monster would kill her?"

There was a long, awkward pause over the speaker. Finally, Spain spoke. "Gilbert…you're letting your emotions cloud your actions. You're reckless and…" He stopped, trying to find the right words. "Please, let one of us handle this. You shouldn't be going in alone!"

Gilbert stopped to consider this, the trail of silver angelic energy floating tantalizingly in front of him. He could let Antonio and Francis take care of the situation; there was no doubt he'd make mistakes right now, what with him being so angry. And, after all, the Spaniard and the Frenchie had been Fallen Hunters longer than he had; they had the sort of professional coldness that only came with years of loss and pain and things they couldn't handle without some sort of grasp on their emotions. And yet…

This was way too close to home. He had lost one of the people he'd ever truly loved to one of these bastards. And though his brother was a prick, and way too stiff for his own good, they were still family and he loved his little brother with everything he had.

"I'm sorry." He said simply, and dropped the communicator. He calmly crushed it under one foot, effectively silencing Francis's and Antonio's cries. "But I need to do this."

* * *

><p>"So how does my brother figure into all of this?" Ludwig and Feliciano were leaning comfortably against the rocks, Feliciano's wings fully extended. It had obviously been uncomfortable for the half-angel to keep his wings folded up—Ludwig had <em>heard <em>the popping noises the wings had made when Feliciano stretched them.

"Your brother is a Fallen hunter." Feliciano tightened his arms around his legs, shivering. "Most of the Fallen are—well, they're called the Fallen for a reason." He sighed, rubbing his head warily. "So you humans needed some way to combat them. The North American branch is the biggest—I don't know why. But they hunt those monsters."

Ludwig was extremely curious now. "But you're half-human. That should count for something, right?"

"Well…yes. I'm not a soulless monster like the Fallen are. But…my father…he did some bad things. Some very bad things." Feliciano looked extremely uncomfortable. "Actually, I think he might've done something to offend your brother personally."

This put Ludwig on guard. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach… "Like…like what?"

Feliciano suddenly looked very frightened. "Please, Ludwig, try to remember. I'm not my father, he was a monster, and I hate him with every bone in my body."

Ludwig said nothing, just fixed Feliciano with a steady look.

"Did you know…Elizaveta Héderváry?"

Immediately the images of a pretty girl with brown hair appeared in his mind; she always wore a pink flower in her hair, and when they were younger she would beat him and Gilbert up, even going so far to think herself a boy. But she became very feminine when she grew up. She wore a pretty green dress and a white apron over the top, and often carried around a frying pan—her choice of weapon when beating the two brothers up. And as they grew, Gilbert started blushing more and more around her, and eventually he had walked right up to her and kissed her. She had been so surprised she hadn't even had time to raise her frying pan and hit him with it. Gilbert kept asking her, and asking her, and begging, and doing anything—and finally, one day she agreed to go out with him. Which was the best decision she'd ever made, because Gilbert had been so happy, and she had been so happy, and for years they both had been happy…

And the night before Gilbert proposed, she died.

Gilbert had screamed and screamed and thrown things and then had screamed some more, before finally just sitting on his bed and staring blankly into nothing. And then, in the middle of the funeral he had walked out.

When he came back, Gilbert was done mourning. He had done whatever he needed to do. And slowly, slowly things had gone back to normal.

Except they hadn't.

Little things. Gilbert disappearing, and not coming back until late, covered with bruises and bone-tired. People Ludwig had never met before, coming to their house, asking for his brother. Strange weapons under Gilbert's bed—all not normal, and all linked together. Normally Ludwig didn't pry into his brother's life—they had always been close, but never closer than two best friends would be. But when he had confronted the albino, Gilbert had said,

"_I'm doing it for her. I'm not doing something stupid, or dangerous! Stop worrying about me. This time I'll protect you!" _

Ludwig still wasn't quite sure what he meant by that, and he didn't really care to find out.

Suddenly he realized that Feliciano was still sitting there, anxiously awaiting an answer. "…Yes." He said finally.

"My father…he…" The Italian shuddered.

The pieces connected.

Ludwig's eyes widened.

"I was just talking to her. She was so pretty and nice, and…" Feliciano wouldn't look at him, just kept sobbing into his knees. "I didn't know my father found me. I didn't know he was following me around. So he…he…"

"Why'd he kill her?" Ludwig interrupted coldly.

"I don't—"

"To keep himself from being discovered? To stop her from escaping? _WHY?" _His last question came out as a harsh scream, guttural and animalistic.

"To…" Feliciano flinched, shivering and shuddering and _sobbing. _"To show that he owned me. To show that I could only talk to the people _he _wanted me to talk to." Even though it seemed impossible, he curled into a tighter ball. "To show that I was completely weak, and that I couldn't do anything while he killed people. Innocents. People who didn't deserve to die."

Ludwig stared in shock at his best friend; his poor, traumatized best friend, who had gone through so much, but still somehow managed to look blissful. Who obviously felt so much guilt about what had happened, but still somehow managed to put up a mask for him and everyone else to see. And suddenly Ludwig realized that this was Feliciano's worst nightmare; being discovered as that monster's son, being discovered as his…his…_slave, _practically, and seen in the worst light possible.

This teen was responsible for his brother's girlfriend's death.

And Ludwig could not possibly hate him more than Feliciano hated himself.

"Feliciano…" Ludwig reached out for the sobbing wreck that was his best friend, who flinched away at his gentle touch. "It's okay…I—"

"West, step away from that Fallen."

Ludwig jumped in shock, and looked up to see his brother's face, twisted with anger and rage and something more _primal _than that, still panting with exertion from his climb up the hill. In his brother's hand, was the strange weapon he'd seen on his brother's bed.

If he stepped away, Feliciano would die. And Gilbert would do it, without a hint of remorse.

"I can't do that, Gilbert." He said firmly, slowly rising to his feet. Ludwig steadied himself on his legs, which had been in the same position for the last twenty minutes, before walking to stand in front of his best friend.

This only seemed to infuriate Gilbert more. "You don't understand what this thing is, Ludwig. Step away from him right now. Whatever he's told you, it's a lie. Just get away, before you get killed too."

"No I—" Ludwig quickly opened his mouth to defend his best friend, but was cut off by a soft voice.

"Please, Ludwig. Just do as he says."

He whipped around to stare at Feliciano. "Feli…?"

Ludwig was met with a soft, understanding smile. "It's okay, Luddy. I knew I could only run for so long…if I stayed here much longer, he would've found me. I don't want to keep running like a hunted animal. I won't do it." Feliciano rose to his feet, wiping the snot and tears from his face, angelic wings half-extended gracefully behind him. He gently pushed Ludwig aside, still smiling. "It's going to be okay."

Gilbert glared at Feliciano, reaching out a hand for his brother. "Come here, West. I don't want you to get hit with anything."

Under the pressure of both his older brother, whom he'd listened to his entire life, and his best friend, Ludwig caved. He slowly walked over to Gilbert.

The half-angel stared calmly back, despite the fact that his eyes were still red from his earlier meltdown. He didn't react, even when Ludwig shook off his brother's protective arm, even when the finger on the trigger tightened cautiously. Finally, he spread his wings out fully, and extended his arms at outwards, in preparation to take the blast that was sure to be his end.

Ludwig couldn't do it.

"Please, Gilbert. Don't do this. He's not one of the Fallen." He begged his brother, who seemed to be beyond reasoning with.

"He's lying." Gilbert said instantly, without any doubt. "He's brain washed you. Don't worry; you'll be fine when we get back."

"I'm not—!"

"Ludwig, please." Feliciano broke in, staring steadily at Ludwig. "It's—I'm—fine. I'll be free."

_Free. _

The word suddenly seemed so bittersweet.

Gilbert pulled the trigger.

An explosion.

* * *

><p>Gilbert's rise to consciousness was slow and sluggish.<p>

Voices floated in and out of his ears, but he couldn't quite make out the words. He did his best to focus, trying to figure out what was going on. Finally, like crackling words on a broken radio, something filtered through.

"Did I tell you that you could talk to this mortal? Did I, _son?" _

That voice was too…familiar…

"Don't hurt him, please, father! I'll do anything you want. Just don't touch him!"

"F-Feliciano…"

_Ludwig! _

Gilbert jumped to his feet, shaking off his tiredness without a second thought. He didn't know what was going on, but whatever it was, Ludwig sounded like he was in trouble! And there was no way that he could leave his little brother to the mercy of the Fallen—that would be so _not awesome! _

But as he looked on the scene, he was very confused.

There was that one Fallen—the little one named…what was it? Felichinana? Felicianogo? No, Feliciano! That was his name! But…wasn't that his brother's best friend? But anyway, the little Fallen one was standing there, staring in horror at the larger Fallen, who was _very_ tall and _very_ pale. He wore a simple black frock coat, with baggy black pants. His wings were a pure black, malevolence practically radiating off of him. He had something small and distinctly human in a choke hold…

"Ludwig!" He breathed, staring at his brother.

"I let you live, little one. I let you prance around this earth like the little fool you are—you half-breed freak—and what happens? You start talking to people like _this," _he shook Ludwig. Gilbert bristled. "You go around nearly getting yourself killed by _hunters…_if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were_ trying _to make me angry!" The arm tightened around Ludwig's neck. Feliciano whimpered.

There was a long silence, Feliciano staring wide-eyed at the pair. Finally, he slowly shut his eyes, and whispered, "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know." The Fallen smiled evilly, showing off his sharp teeth. "Maybe I'll subject you to a life in servitude. Perhaps I'll torture you. What do you think I should do?"

For some reason…he seemed so familiar—the big one. Just the way he talked to the little one—actually, they both were so familiar. Like…it was almost as if…

"_You talked to her. You know I don't like it when you talk to people. I didn't give you permission. What do you suppose I should do to her?"_

"You!" Gilbert hissed, bending to his knees to search for his gun. The Fallen—and Ludwig—looked over at Gilbert in surprise, obviously having forgotten about him. "You killed her! It was _you!" _

The big Fallen quickly got over his surprise and smirked, while Ludwig's eyes widened, and Feliciano let out another choked sob. "Yes…I think I remember you. You tried to kill me. I still haven't quite forgiven you for that."

Ludwig let out a gasp of horror, while Gilbert stopped looking for his gun and tensed, sensing that an attack was coming. He paused for a moment, wondering if he should say anything, before deciding that anything he said now couldn't make it much worse than it already was. "Do your worst!"

"No! Gilbert!" His little brother began writhing in the Fallen's hold, trying desperately to get free. "Let me go! _No!" _

The Fallen just watched Gilbert with his cold, dead eyes, not a single emotion showing through that perfect mask. Then, ever so slowly, a maniacal grin began to split his face. "You want me to let you go, do you?" He let go of Ludwig's neck, but before the German could react he shoved him forcefully against Gilbert. "Okay. I'll kill you together!" Then, he turned to address Feliciano, the grin never fading for a moment. "Take this as a lesson, Feliciano. This is what happens when you disobey me!"

The Fallen raised one spidery hand, palm facing the pair, fingers pressed together. A small marble of darkness appeared in the center of his palm, before slowly expanding into the size of a baseball. It hovered ominously over the ground, radiating some sort of malevolent energy.

Ludwig steadied himself against his older brother, watching in horror as the dark energy was pointed at their faces. He looked up at Gilbert, expecting his older brother to have an answer, as he always did when they were younger—even if it was a stupid answer, Gilbert had always thought of _something. _

But his face was blank, and his strong arms tightened around Ludwig.

"We're going to die, aren't we." Ludwig whispered. It wasn't a question. Gilbert didn't respond. "What happened to your gun?"

Gilbert narrowed his eyes, his lips turning down ever-so-slightly. "He's…it wouldn't work on him, West. I'm so sorry."

Ludwig stared at him, looked at the Fallen, and hugged his brother as tight as he could.

Meanwhile, Feliciano watched in horror, knowing that his best friend was about to die. His feet were frozen to the ground, and he couldn't move a muscle; something about his father's presence had always stopped him cold in his tracks. It had happened so many times before—he couldn't save Elizaveta, he couldn't save _anyone. _And right now, he just wanted Ludwig to live—because his best friend was one of the best people who'd ever existed. Ludwig accepted him for who he was, not even caring that he was partly Fallen…if someone like that didn't deserve to live, no one did.

He tried to yank his feet up, feeling fear starting to course through him as the dark ball of energy began to form at his father's palm. There was no way the brothers would survive—_could _survive if they were hit by that. Two people would be murdered, because of _him—_

He would have the murder of his best friend on his hands.

Feliciano threw back his head and screamed in fury, feeling his own energy—a pure white to his father's ebony black—start swirling around inside of him, dancing like lightning over his olive skin. Ludwig and Gilbert stared at him, stunned, while his father turned to look at him in horror.

The spell was broken.

His father turned back to the brothers, and released the energy.

Gilbert closed his eyes.

Feliciano darted forward.

* * *

><p>Ludwig didn't close his eyes, even when the swirling ball of black energy came flying at them. He watched as Feliciano, skin flashing a bright white, eyes glowing silver, darted towards the attack, and met it head on.<p>

He watched, feeling detached as Feliciano caught the ball of energy, his face twisted up with pain. He saw the half-angel curl in on himself, trying to keep the dark matter from coming towards the two brothers, even as it shoved him back. Seconds later, Feliciano was nearly in front of him, and Ludwig could _feel _the energy—a mixture of innocence—no doubt Feliciano—and malignant intent, no doubt Feliciano's father. He could tell, even from where he was standing, that Feliciano would not be able to hold it off for much longer.

He needed to help—support Feliciano, somehow. But what could he do?

Ludwig tentatively reached forwards, Gilbert still hanging onto him, and pressed his hands against Feliciano's back, trying to keep him from being pushed back any further. He was suddenly reminded of earlier that day, when Gilbert had thrown himself against Ludwig, nearly sending them toppling down the stairs. It had been Feliciano's gently, steadying hands that kept them safe.

It seemed so long ago.

But the reaction to Ludwig's steadying hands was not expected.

Feliciano's energy exploded, throwing bright light in all directions, completely smothering the black energy. It lashed out, and seemingly drowned Feliciano's father in the pure, innocent fire. Ludwig couldn't see what was happening to the older Fallen. But he could see the wind whipping through the trees, spiraling up into the sky, like a tornado made out of the pure energy and the gust of nature. And, standing at the center of the storm, was Ludwig, Gilbert…

And Feliciano.

The half-angel was curled in on himself, wrapped completely around the ball of energy, screaming almost as loud as the gale around them. His hair whipped around his delicate face, eyes shut as tight as they could go. His skin crackled and danced with tiny streaks of energy. A ball of white energy surrounded him as he floated in the air, and the only thing grounding him was Ludwig's hands.

Ludwig himself wasn't touched by the maelstrom around them, and neither was Gilbert. The older brother was staring around in shock, watching the lightshow with wide eyes.

"Ludwig…?" He whispered. "What is this…?"

Ludwig opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly Feliciano's screaming stopped. He whipped around, trying to see what had happened, and realized that the bright ball of energy had vanished. Feliciano slowly floated towards the ground, still wrapped around the mass of energy.

Standing in front of him…was Feliciano's father.

Half of his face had been burned off, and so had most of his black clothing—the only thing that remained was his black pants, but not even that remained unscathed. The pants cut off at the knees, where the energy had burned away the rest of their length. He had an incredible body—his arms were muscled, very prominent abs, though there were deep burns all across his skin. He was also panting and huffing, holding a black knife coated with red-silver blood.

_Feliciano!_

The half-angel stared in shock at his father, lips parted slightly in surprise. Ludwig didn't need to look to know that silver-red blood was slowly soaking the front of his best friend's shirt. When Feliciano coughed, thick globules of blood escaped his lips.

His father began to laugh—high, hysterical, and utterly insane. "You can't escape from me, Feliciano! You are mine! You have always been _mine!"_

To everyone's surprise, Feliciano smiled, and said only one word.

"Never."

He loosened his arms around the tight mass of energy he'd been holding onto.

The once black ball of energy had turned metallic silver, twice the size it had once been. The strange silver substance was swirling like quicksilver in front of Feliciano, twisting and whirling as though possessed.

Then it stopped, simply floating in the air.

It leapt towards the Fallen with the speed of lightning, coiling itself around the man's neck and forcing itself down his throat. The angel tried to resist at first, clawing angrily at the silver energy, before realizing that it was futile, and instead started screaming in fear. His scream jumped octaves as the stuff entered his mouth, down his throat, and—

He turned silver. First it was his feet, then it traveled up his calves, to his thighs, chest, arms, wings, neck, and finally…

His head was swallowed by silver. He abruptly stopped screaming.

Ludwig stared at the now-paralyzed man in horror, watching the Fallen get transformed into a silver…_thing._ He couldn't quite tell what had happened to Feliciano's father, and frankly he really didn't want to know. Whatever that energy had done to the Fallen, it had obviously been painful. And now he seemed to be completely paralyzed…he almost looked like a silver statue. Which was just as if not more scary than the live Fallen.

Ludwig's thoughts were interrupted by Feliciano coughing again, blood flying to the ground in front of him. The Italian swayed where he sat…and slowly fell to the ground.

Ludwig jumped forwards to catch him, looking to where Gilbert was standing—he was still staring, shell-shocked, at the statue-fied Fallen, as though he still couldn't quite believe what had happened. _That's not going to save Feliciano! _He thought angrily. "Gilbert!"

Gilbert let out a very girly scream.

Ludwig would tease him about that later.

"Help me!"

* * *

><p>Feliciano woke with a start, staring around curiously.<p>

All his aches and pains had vanished—even the wound on his stomach where his father had stabbed him had miraculously disappeared. He was dressed in a clean white…dress (_Okay then?), _and he felt better than he had felt in a long time.

He scrambled to his feet, trying to figure out where he was.

Which was, apparently, nowhere.

White sky, white walls, white floor—he couldn't even tell if there were any surfaces of any sort, which was very disorienting.

Then, his eyes caught sight of the only spot of color in the entire room.

A woman sat, her golden hair flowing in graceful waves down her back. Her face was heart shaped, her gentle caramel-colored eyes watching him with a calm intelligence. She was smiling a soft, kind smile, which filled Feliciano with a sort of warmth he hadn't felt for a very long time. Her pure gold wings extended out from her shoulders, settling gracefully in the air behind her. She sat in perfect stillness, not even quivering.

Their identical eyes met.

"Mother…?" He whispered, staring at her in shock. His eyes began to fill with tears at the sight of the woman who had long since died. He had loved his mother, more than he had ever loved anyone else in his entire life.

It was a shame that he could barely remember her.

She simply opened up her arms. Without a second thought he leapt into them, burying himself in her soothing scent and soft gown. He wrapped his arms around her as tightly as he could, as though she would disappear, and settled in her lap, feeling very much like a small child again.

"My dear Feli." She said quietly, rubbing his back, just like he remembered. "I missed you."

That was all it took for him to burst into tears.

He cried freely into her dress, without an ounce of restraint; he felt as though he hadn't seen her in a million years. But now that he had her, he would never let her go!

"It is over." She murmured into his hair. "He can't hurt you anymore."

This only made him cry harder.

But there was something niggling in the back of his head—something important that he really should worry about—but for now he was just drinking in his mother, crying into her like he always used to do. However as his sobs died down, his mind cleared; the thing that was worrying him came to the forefront of his mind, forcing him to sit back and let go of his mother, staring at the ground thoughtfully. Noticing his confused expression, she gestured for him to speak.

"Mom…" He said, and glanced up at her, fixing her in his surprisingly sharp gaze. "Am I dead?"

If she was surprised by the bluntness of the question, she didn't show it. "It's your choice." She murmured, staring unblinkingly back.

"What do you mean?" He tilted his head, giving him a very innocent look.

His mother smiled at him fondly. "You're a half-breed."

Feliciano flinched at her brutally honest statement, but only a second later had to try not to laugh; she hadn't changed a bit. The one thing he could remember about her was how she would tell the truth, no matter how rude it was. He couldn't count all the times she'd said, _"You're rude, and stupid, and ugly." _To some guy who had tried to 'woo' her into going on a date.

"That means, Feli…that you could choose to live, or to die. Go back to that terrible, wonderful, _lonely _world you live in, or come and live here, with me." She smoothed back his hair with her hands, and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "It's so wonderful, buttercup. You'd never believe it. Green pastures with lush grass, crystal blue skies as far as the eyes can see. And there is always the most peculiar scent, I couldn't possibly give it a name—but it smells so fresh and clean…"

Feliciano closed his eyes and hummed happily, taking in her, her voice, everything. Yes, heaven sounded like a wonderful idea. But…

"_I'm sooooooo sorry! I didn't mean to run into you like that! Here, let me help you clean this up."_

"_It is…it is fine. Now, thank you for your help, but I need to go, please—"_

"_Wait, I'll help you carry it! Let's be friends!" _

"…_friends?"_

"_Yeah, sure! My name's Feliciano, what's yours?"_

"_Ah…Ludwig. My name is Ludwig. It is a pleasure to meet you, Feliciano."_

Feliciano shook off his mother's arms, and slowly got to his feet, his eyes shadowed by his bangs. She watched him questioningly as he stared down at her, though she couldn't see past his auburn fringe. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry, mama…but I can't. I have the most wonderful friends…and I couldn't possibly leave them behind. They helped me, they understood me, and they didn't care when I acted really strangely or anything. One of them even accepted me for who I am.

"There's still so much I can do, back on the earth. I can help the Fallen hunters, so nobody ever ends up like Gilbert again. I can try my best to make some peace on this troubled earth. If I can help, I will." He finally lifted his eyes to look at her, and she was stunned to see tears running down his face. "I love you more than anyone else, mama. But there are still people who need me."

She blinked, obviously shocked at his choice, before her lips curved into a soft, understanding smile. Then, she began to disappear into a golden glitter; first her feet, then her calves, thighs, chest, arms, wings…rather reminiscent of the most recent Fallen angel, which had turned into a silver statue.

Before her mouth was transformed, she murmured, "Feliciano…I am so, so proud of you. Whatever happens now, just know that I am proud of you."

And then she was gone.

Feliciano fell into blackness.

* * *

><p>Ludwig sat in the chair next to Feliciano's bed, holding onto his friend's unresponsive hand.<p>

The hour after the energy storm had been a blur; he vaguely remembered Gilbert's frantic voice shouting into a cellphone, calling for an ambulance, while he pressed his hands against Feliciano's chest, trying to staunch the bleeding. Then, there were people; a _lot _of people, coming and picking up Feliciano and poking him and _prodding _him and shouting really loudly…and then there was a whirl of action, some more shouting, and then they were both in the ambulance. There was a brief moment of dull panic—_"We're losing him!"—_before things were okay again. And then there were people—people in white coats asking him _what happened, _and _why was he injured, _and blah, blah, blah…the most recent thing he recalled was a short, blond-haired man yelling at the doctor who'd been questioning him—_"Matthias Kohler! Can't you see he's traumatized? Leave him alone!"_—and finally, _finally, _he'd been left alone.

Feliciano had been in intensive care unit for several hours as they tried to stabilize him. Even though Ludwig wasn't there personally, he could feel the tension radiating off of every person running in and out of the ICU.

At last…they had called him in, saying that Feliciano was in the safe zone, and that he would pull through. Ludwig glanced over at Gilbert, who was sleeping soundly in the chair next to him, before rising to his feet. Gilbert had had one helluva day; he seriously looked like he needed his sleep. Ludwig couldn't look much better, of course, but he needed to see his best friend.

So here he was, holding onto a pale, unconscious Feliciano. He didn't know why the people in the hospital hadn't made a big fuss about the wings—perhaps Feliciano had some sort of cloaking mechanism of some kind—but he didn't really care. Because his best friend was going to pull through.

Ludwig closed his eyes as he remembered Feliciano's fury at his father for threatening to hurt them; his primal scream of rage as he broke whatever spell the elder Fallen had casted. He had always thought Feliciano to be a bit of a coward, but now it seemed as though he were eating his words.

He squeezed Feliciano's hand comfortingly, his eyes still clenched shut.

What he didn't expect was a weak squeeze back.

Ludwig practically jumped out of his seat, but kept his firm hold on Feliciano. The little Italian didn't have his eyes open, and it didn't look as though he was coming out of unconsciousness, but…had he just imagined it?

He squeezed his hand again. Feliciano responded instantly.

Two liquid-caramel eyes flew open.

For a moment Ludwig could've sworn they'd flashed silver. But it must've been his imagination.

**OMG! I'm very proud of this one. It's epic length. Hehe. **

**If anyone were to ask me where I got the inspiration for this, I would say, 'hell if I know'. Which is the truth. Hell if I know!**

**I'm a little unhappy with the ending, but what else am I supposed to do with it? It took me a very long time to write this. I wasn't planning on getting stuck on the ending. But tell me if anything needs editing; it will be greatly appreciated.**

**I was very pleased with the response to the last chapter! It looks like posting the second chap to SMUG K was the right move. I was a little skeptical about it at first, but it turned out alright. **

**Anyway:**

**Vampchick2010: Ah, my loyal reviewer! Thank you very much. I like to think myself a good writer, but who am I to judge myself? It's up to other people. People like you! So thank you!**

**foREVerhauntingme: Yeah, SMUG K and it's sequel are both sad and sweet. I'm a very 'happy endings' person, so even if a lot of shit happens during a story, everything will turn out alright. Yes, I'm a sap. So sue me.**

**Nokturna168: Yup, Arthur adopted them! He has a soft spot for his boys 3. The reason I didn't have more scenes of their recovery was because I didn't want to make the sequel much longer than the original; maybe one day I'll write one composed of just the recovery moments...hm...**

**insanelaugtler: *shuffle*...*blink*...*shuffle*... *blush*That's very high praise. Thank you, very much! And I'd never considered making a sequel to 'Facade, but since you requested it, definetly!**

**Alright, guys, just 3 more chapters plus the sequel to Facade, and it's the ultra-super-massive project I've been working on! The preview is in chapter 40, guys. **

**Thanks, **

**IceEckos12**

**P. S. Okay then...the Document is freaking out...but whatevs. Highly annoying, but whatever. Actually, it's a little more than annoying. Highly irritating. Guh. Sunnovabitch.**


	43. Crumble

_10 years since Façade _

Canada stood in the meeting room, staring mournfully out the window, just simply remembering.

_The two brothers were standing outside to the door to the meeting room, preparing to make their entrance. They had dressed for the occasion—fancy black suits, freshly pressed and ironed. Canada thought it made America look cold and unfriendly. That was of course the look they had been going for, but still; it unnerved Canada greatly. _

_As Canada looked at his brother, the older sibling smiled tiredly back. His face was pale, a stark change from his usual tanned features; he looked tired and drawn. Canada knew for a fact that the amiable nation had been worrying about their plan for a month, staying up late into the night, tossing and turning, wondering if what they were planning was right. _

_Canada knew it was. wrong And America knew it was wrong. They knew that the other countries would hate them for it...but still, it needed to be done._

_America took in a deep breath, and cleared his face of his emotions. "Well…you ready, little bro?"_

_Canada hesitated just a second, and then responded, "Brother…" It ended as a question. _

_"Yeah?" He responded, not seeming to mind the random interruption. Anything to put it off a little longer. _

_"We're martyrs…aren't we." It wasn't a question. _

_The mask cracked for just a second, and mournful blue met resigned violet. "Yeah…yeah we are."_

_Canada bowed his head and shoved down the wave of sadness, before whipping around and kicking out strongly with one foot. _

_The door fell with a clang—the sound of sealed fate. _

Oh, it had worked. It had definitely worked. The world's economy was better than ever; unemployment rates were at all-time low, and many 3rd world countries had benefited from the 1st world countries collaboration. Without the North American brothers, it would never have happened.

But…

Canada's head dropped, and he pressed his hands to his ears, trying to ignore the memory. _The eyes. The hate filled eyes as America and Canada passed in all their glory; America his head held high and regal, Canada like a wild animal, tensed and raring for a fight. _Oh how he loathed the image—oh he hated how twisted they'd had to become. It nearly made him sick.

It wasn't nearly as bad for Canada, though. Not _nearly _as bad. 

Canada was seen as a mindless enforcer, doing only what he was told. Some countries even looked on him with sympathetic eyes—even the thought made him sick. He _knew _what he was doing was wrong, and he hated the fact that they had to go to such extremes to get the world back in shape. It warred within him almost every day…but at least he was treated with some kindness. He had heard that most thought that his mind had been twisted irreparably by America. Most still hated him—he shuddered—but it was better than nothing.

America, though, was looked on with such venomous animosity for suppressing them and their pride. Now Canada knew that America had planned it that way—that all the hatred would be directed towards the older sibling. However America was beginning to slowly crumble under the weight of their hatred—though the other countries couldn't see it, Canada could. He could see the way late at night America would hunch over, as though carrying the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. He would see the way America imperceptibly flinched at every insult that was thrown his way.

And only he would see the way America cried himself to sleep every night.

America was perhaps the friendliest, most fun loving nation to ever cross the threshold of the meeting room. He loved the other countries with every fiber of his being, and it was that love that had caused him to try and make life better for them. But it was slowly killing America. He was eating less and less, smiling less and less when they were alone…

Canada sighed, and slowly lowered his hands into his pockets and looked out at the window again—the one that had been smashed in a fit of rage. That had been his fault…and it had been actual rage. He had been so furious with the other countries treating them like crap for helping them (though after his mind had cleared, he had realized that he couldn't blame the others—they were very proud, and forcing them to do anything was highly insulting to them, too).

America had walked into the room, suit rumpled, and a tired look in his eyes. He had stared at the mess Canada had made of the room, sighed…and then Canada had turned on him. He had shouted at America for putting up with the other countries, for letting himself get mentally destroyed by the others…

And then America had said one thing: "It is what I deserve."

It was like the quote had once said: the end justifies the means. America had seemed to taken that statement to a whole new level.

Canada turned around to walk out of the room, done with the memories. It was nearly morning, and soon the two brothers would have to go back to their normal routine—walking around with their facades firmly in place, making sure nothing went awry.

And suddenly, there was a knife at his throat.

Canada growled, immediately donning the mask that he had used for nearly ten years. "Get off me!" For some reason, it was getting easier and easier for him to do so, unlike America, whose façade was getting worse and worse as time went on

"I don't think so. _Traitor." _Russia's high pitched, accented voice hissed—and suddenly, his arms were tied up behind him. A thought ran through his mind—_a coup d'état _—he suddenly toppled to the ground, and then he was hogtied so well he could barely move.

Canada hadn't even had time to land a blow.

"Are you sure that will hold him?" It was England's low, cool voice. He was one of America and Canada's main antagonist—he seemed to go out of his way to insult them.

"The minute it looks like he is going to escape, you must knock him out." Germany. Always silent, always glaring. "It will have to do for now—we must wait for America. Hopefully then this reign of terror can finally end."

His heart froze. America! His brother would come to this room, see him tied up like this…the sight would destroy him. Because no matter what America did, there was always the underlying, 'I must keep my brother safe from harm. If I do this, will he be in danger?'

Canada hated that protective instinct, always had. He could take care of himself, and over the ten years this endeavor had made him much tougher. However America still insisted on seeing him as the younger, more emotional one. The sentiment was naïve, yes, but…sometimes, though he would never admit it, it made him happy. It made it seem like everything was as it was before, that none of the other countries hated him, that everything was the same…

_He can't see me like this. I need to keep this from him. _

Canada began straining against the restraints, trying not to catch the attention of the others. They were still discussing everything—what they would do after they were finally free of the tyrant (those liars—they were allowed to do anything they liked, as long as they got their work done!), what the world would be like after this was all over…

_We gave everything to you. _Rage caused the ropes to creak, and his teeth to grit.

And then, Yong Soo ran in, a nervous expression on his face. He sent one terrified look at Canada, before saying quietly, "America is coming!" Then he looked around one more time, before darting away. He was a little nervous of Canada because of something that had happened a while ago—Yong Soo had been very annoying, and Canada had growled at him with such anger it nearly made the Asian nation cry.

Canada's heart stopped. _No._ His struggling became more desperate. _No!_

England nodded grimly to Germany while Russia took out his pipe, stroking it gently. England settled himself on Canada's back, and the younger nation froze at the feeling of cold metal on his neck. Germany and Russia stood on either side of the two grimly, preparing for the powerful nation to enter.

"I don't know if you're still in there, Canada…" He froze at the sound of England's voice, which was barely more than a whisper. "But I swear, I will do anything in my power to save you."

Canada didn't respond, just pressed his face into the hard ground when he heard the light footsteps of his brother. Canada didn't want to see America's reaction when he saw that the younger nation had been captured.

The footsteps got closer—they were practically cheerful. It seemed like America was having a good day today—Canada whimpered and pressed his face deeper into the floor, ignoring England's air of confusion. It was the first one he'd had in the longest time…today of all days!

"Canada!" The light, happy cheerful voice called, and it nearly split Canada in two. He sounded so happy and…this would tear him apart. It made Canada want to cry. He could feel the shift of confusion when England heard the voice—America hadn't sounded like that in ten years. "Little bro~! We should go get Denny's…" The footsteps rounded the corner. The voice trailed off. Canada's heart plummeted in his chest.

A second later—a second too late—the façade was back in place. But if Canada had looked up, he knew he would have seen the heart-stopping agony in America's eyes at the sight of his little brother being threatened. "What is the meaning of this?" There was a barely undertone of nervousness in America's chilly, normally emotionless voice.

There was a moment of dead silence as the other three recovered, probably staring at America in confusion—and then England shook himself, and pressed the knife closer to Canada's throat. "This is exactly what it looks like. A coup—you surrender, and we'll let your brother go."

America let out what was supposed to be an apathetic bark of laughter—but it came out as a choked, strangled sound. "You can't kill him."

"Have you ever heard of the Titan Prometheus?"

There was a nearly audible hitch in America's breath, and Canada's heart froze. _The trickster Titan, who was chained to a rock…vultures came and ate part of him every day, only for that part to grow back, day after day…the agony continued for years…_

"I'm sure you know what will happen if you say no." Russia's calm and cruel voice murmured—and finally, Canada could take it no more. He looked up, straight into America's face.

The country's mask was only half there, exposing the anguish of the rest of him. His posture, usually impeccable in public, was slightly slumped. His eyes were defeated and sad, making him look older than ever—and there was also fear. For his brother. He looked dull and lifeless and…sad. Canada knew that this was it—there was no way America would be able to come back after something like this.

Canada smiled slightly, to show that he was fine, though he knew it wouldn't do anything. America, as he had assumed, was unconvinced.

"I surrender."

This time Canada _heard _the surprise—the country above him let out a quiet noise, and shifted. After a moment, England growled, "No, that's too easy. Get down on the ground."

Canada followed America with his eyes as he slowly got to the floor, sitting quietly on his knees, without protest. England jerked his head slightly, and Germany hurried forwards, Russia on his heels. Within minutes they had America tied up just like Canada. The North American nation didn't seem to care—he kept his eyes on Canada's the entire time.

"Now let him go." America said quietly, finally looking up at England. The Brit was obviously unsettled by America's behavior—he had obviously expecting a fight, a glorious battle where the rebels would come out on time. But it was hard to fight a battle when the opposing side was already defeated.

True to his word, England jerked his head towards Russia and Germany. They walked forwards, lifted Canada onto their shoulders, and began walking towards the door. Canada could keep silent no longer—he jerked in their hands, and cried out, "Brother, no!"

America looked up at him and smiled, heavy with sadness and guilt. The message was clear—_this is what I deserve. _

Germany and Russia kept walking, tightening their grip around him as he bucked and kicked angrily. "No, let me go! You don't understand!" The façade had broken. For the first time in a long time, Canada was fully himself again, and he knew that the minute he left America's life the nation would finally crumble into dust. "_America!" _

The door slammed in his face. The last site of his brother was a heartbroken smile.

* * *

><p>"So, America." England knelt down so he was eye to eye with his former colony. The younger nation was staring at the floor with a dull, lifeless expression, a strange half-smile on his face. "You have been defeated by the ones you looked down upon. What do you have to say for yourself?"<p>

The bound country just kept staring, defeated.

_He's been broken completely. _England shook his head and sighed, before getting up and turning away. He had work to do—tell the other rebel leaders what had transpired, and the like. He was just about to leave the room, when—

"He's going to come after me."

It was so quiet England could barely hear it—but he turned around and smirked, a wide smile crossing his face, catching America's dull eyes. _This _was the America he knew—never defeated, never beaten down. "We'll be ready for him. You're not getting out of here; I'll make sure of it personally—"

"No."

England pulled up short, and cocked his head at America, confused.

"If I go along with whatever you want…will you promise not to hurt him?" The pleading look in his eyes nearly made England's heart stop. "I'll resist being freed. Whatever you want. Just don't hurt him."

It took his breath away, staring down at the nation. That desperation, that…terror. Not for himself, though, for his younger brother. England remembered the way Canada beat the crap out of Russia that first day…he didn't need any protecting. But here America was, willing to give his soul away for his brother.

He could…respect that. He couldn't respect America's hypocrisy (after all, he had taken away some of the others' free will after preaching about how everyone needed to be free), but he could respect the loyalty to his family. So with a short but firm nod, England agreed to the deal. "We will do our best not to harm him."

Then America slumped to the floor, as though all the tension had loosed itself with that sentence. "Thank God." He whispered, and a small smile crossed his face.

England shifted uncomfortably, before turning away and standing at the door of the room. For some reason, he couldn't help but feel as though what they were doing was wrong—that America was not the one at fault here. But he shook off the thought—of course he was. America was the one who had repressed them for so long, made their lives a living nightmare…

Germany and Russia passed him by, and sent him a curious look—he gestured towards America, before hurriedly walking away.

He had work to do.

* * *

><p>Many miles away, Canada had set himself up in the basement of his and America's house. America didn't know it, but Canada had secretly put a tracker under his older brother's skin. Now he was following the dot as it moved across the city, towards an airport. They were obviously planning on moving the nation to a more secure location.<p>

Canada stroked his chin. At the moment he was ill prepared to attack a fully armed envoy—they would take him out within seconds. He would have to build up his supply of arms and followers before he even thought about reclaiming his older brother.

Besides. Canada wanted them to understand what the others had done to them—and that would take time. Time and planning.

His face suddenly split with a wide grin, lighted eerily with the soft light of the computer.

He had _plenty_ of time.

**Haha…wow. Lookie here. It's an update. Go figure. I know I haven't updated in a while, but I'm not going to make excuses for myself. Sure I was busy, sure I was distracted with writing all of my other writing project…but I was simply lazy. I was reminded about the fact that Oneshot Heaven was still active by a new reviewer, Gargoyle Alchemist. Say thank you. Sorry for the wait. Now I have apologized, and now I'm moving on. **

**Two people requested this one first—the sequel to Façade—so I decided, hey why not? I must say, I'm pretty pleased with the outcome. Actually, no I'm not. Argh, I don't know…I can't decide if this is really good or really bad. Or just mediocre. Unedited, so...**

**What I'm trying to convey here is that America is having a very hard time with this whole experience, but Canada is having a very easy time. He's normally passive aggressive, but the whole situation makes him angry…and because he's given an outlet—his mask—he's slowly becoming who he portrays. I hope that got across…and England doubts that America is all bad, too. **

**Anyway, I'm leaving this open at the end…because I'm planning on writing a third one. It won't be before the hiatus, I can tell you this now, but it will be called Dust. I'm not giving you any spoilers. **

**This is the first of 8 one shots that I will be writing and completing before I go on Major Hiatus and drop this completely. I'll open this story up again when I've finished the first book of my massive project (11 chapters, guys, and nearly finished!). But for now I'll just be writing one shots. **

**Now, for responses to reviews: **

**Vampchick2010: Thanks. I like happy endings too…makes me smile. J**

**Ghouti: Your concern is appreciated. Now fuck off, sunshine. ;) (Everyone else: don't be too concerned about that reaction, we're family.)**

**Pengirl100and2: I'm so awesome at writing because I have no life and write a lot. J Now here's a tissue and a cookie. *pats back***

**Gargoyle Alchemist: Thanks for getting me to update. I'm sure my reviewers now love you. **

**Anyway…I'm so excited. My big book is nearly finished. The minute my sister finishes the first half I'm posting it. *giddy with excitement* But that will probably be a while…*wilts***

**IceEckos12**


	44. Alien Nations

**Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't own Hetalia.**

"Happy New Years, Mattie!" Canada sighed, and rubbed his bleary eyes before turning to the small clock on his desk, phone clenched in one hand.

"Al. Do you have any idea what time it is?"

The response was so typically America: oblivious. "Midnight, obviously! 2013, WOOOOO!" There were similar shouts in the background, obviously from the New Year's party he was at—and there was only one place he could be at this point.

"You're in Vegas, dumbass." He pinched the bridge of his nose; it was too late for this, he had been curled up in bed, fast asleep…and now his idiot brother comes along and interrupts his first good sleep in months! "I'm in Quebec."

There was a long pause on the other end. "Mattie, you never swear at me. Is everything ok?"

"Time zone difference you idiot!" He roared into the phone. "IT'S 3 IN THE MORNING!"

There was another longer pause. "So…you're in the same time zone as New York?"

Canada felt a migraine coming on—it was _way _too late to be dealing with this idiot. "Yes. Do you remember? We—as in the two of us—celebrated in New York. _Then I went home—_wait a minute, what are you doing in Vegas?"

"Oh, well…I've been flying my jet back an hour every time so I can celebrate more! First NYC, then Chicago, then I went somewhere in Colorado, and now I'm here in Vegas!" He sounded so ridiculously proud of himself that Canada knew that he couldn't spend another minute on the phone without exploding.

"I'm going back to bed. Next time you call, it better be an emergency." Then he slammed the phone back onto its cradle (unintentionally cracking it) before rolling back over to get some sleep.

~OSH~

"…he hung up on me." America stared curiously at the phone, before sighing and putting it back, curling his bare feet around the circle at the bottom of the bar stool. Lauren, the owner of the bar they were in, reached over and patted his arm. She had kind brown eyes and curly blonde hair, with a toothy smile.

"It's okay, baby. Maybe you should've thought before you called your bro in the middle of the night, though." She smiled comfortingly at him, and then sent the evil eye at a couple girls over his shoulder—obviously with the intent to flirt with the nation. She was a bit overprotective of the oblivious idiot. It was probably because he had _no _idea what he did to hormonal teenaged girls.

"Ah well. I guess I can't blame him." He smiled and shrugged, before sliding off the seat, leaving her comforting touch hovering awkwardly in the air. "I'm going to go outside and get some air, okay? It's a little stuffy in here." The place had originally been warm and cozy, but now he just felt cramped and stuffed. There was something that was telling him to get outside and enjoy the stars.

"You'll be alright by yourself, Al?" Lauren shifted, and then sent the girls another evil look, which sent them scurrying back to their table again.

He smiled half-heartedly—for some reason, he wanted…no, _needed _to get outside. It was calling him, pressing him… "I'm good. I just need a little fresh air."

She took in his pale face, his suddenly dull eyes...he had been enjoying himself so much only minutes ago, but now it seemed as though he was going to be ill. Lauren smiled unsurely back, realizing that Al probably _did _need a minute or two in the open air…there was a sudden sense of foreboding, like she shouldn't be sending him out there. But Al _had _beaten off some perverts several times his size many times… "Alright. Don't go too far, ok?"

He nodded, before practically bolting for the door. Lauren watched him go, and couldn't help feeling as though she had just made a terrible mistake…

~OSH~

America pulled his coat tighter around him; not that it was very cold, but…for some reason, he was shivering. Maybe he was getting sick—even the thought of the fiscal cliff made him feel nauseous. He shuffled his feet, staring into the sky—he had driven himself into the nearby national park, so there wasn't as much light pollution. He then had wandered aimlessly through the area, simply enjoying the scenery—if he was a normal human, he would have been lost, but as it was…he knew every crack, every crevice of this country. There was no possible way America could get lost.

He didn't feel bad that he had broken his promise not to go too far—no, he felt as though he _needed _to be here, there was something pulling him to this spot, deep in his gut—

An enormous shadow suddenly covered the ground—the wind ruffled his head, almost knocking him over—he dove towards the dirt, breath quickening. For some reason, he knew that _this _was what had called him here…

After a second America jumped to his feet, staring at the giant thing that had just landed gently almost a hundred yards from him. It was about the size of a small building; it was a metallic grey color, and shaped like a ball. There were no marks on it, no signs of construction—he didn't have a clue what it was.

It obviously wasn't something he had made, and he didn't think that it was anything the others had made…no, it looked almost…alien.

America wasn't sure whether to approach the strange metallic ball or to run—but then his foot took a step forwards, completely without his permission. In surprise, he pulled back, staring in confusion at the offending appendage, and then looked back up at the craft in alarm.

Obviously he had made a terrible mistake. One thought filled his brain—run and call for help. For a second he wondered if this counted as an emergency, before deciding that he didn't care. His hand dove into his pocket, and he turned to run—

Turned to run—

Turned to—

He couldn't do it. He couldn't turn and run.

America's eyes widened in horror as he realized that his feet had somehow been trapped to the ground—it was taking everything in his willpower not to take a step towards the metallic ball. In fact, his entire body felt as though it was being pulled towards it—slowly he managed to take the phone out of his pocket, slowly pulling it up so he could see it…

Thank God for speed dial.

The phone rang, and he gritted his teeth as he forced the phone towards his ear—and forced himself not to move towards the strange object. The call was getting more insistent—whoever or whatever it was inside was getting impatient.

One ring, two, three—for a second, America was terrified Canada wouldn't pick up.

"What? Who is it?"

He sighed in relief at the sound of his brother's voice, and then managed to choke out a response. "H-Hey, M-Mat."

"America." Canada growled, sleep curling at the edges of his voice. "What did I say?"

"This counts." He gasped out, and then let out a choked noise as his leg finally moved him a step forwards.

The voice suddenly became alert and alarmed, after Canada heard the noise his brother had made. "America? What's going on? Are you alright?"

"S-Something landed…" He sucked in a tight breath, closing his eyes. "I-It's…calling…t-too…loud…" When America eyes opened again, he realized that the smooth surface of the metallic ball was inches from his face—had he moved, or had it moved? He didn't know. He didn't care anymore. It was already too late for him.

"What do you mean, America? America!" He could hear muted movements in the background as Canada lunged out of bed, scrambling to his feet. "Say something!"

America stared at the outside of the machine—for some reason, it had stopped pulling him, but he still couldn't move. "I think…" He knew he should be panicking, but for some reason he just felt this terrible sense of familiarity. "G-Goodbye, bro."

Then the ball opened up and wrapped its metallic arms around his body, pulling him inside. Then, it and its contents vanished without a trace.

The only evidence that anything had happened was the phone on the ground, still in the middle of a call between a ghost and a frantic brother.

* * *

><p><em>The next morning<em>

"He said he needed some fresh air…and then he just left?"

Lauren nodded tearfully. "I thought…Alfred would be able to take care of himself! I told him not to go too far. He's very strong…but…" She let out a choked sob, and then continued in a softer tone. "I got…this weird feeling. Like…something bad was going to happen…it got worse…and then I suddenly got very scared, for no reason whatsoever. Like I was suddenly unsafe, unprotected…" She bit her lip. "After I got that feeling, everyone left very quickly."

Canada and England glanced at each other, feeling a bit nervous. They both realized that this was more than just a simple vanishing act—every American they'd spoken to said that they got this odd feeling, like they were exposed. One who seemed particularly thoughtful had mentioned that they hadn't noticed that they'd felt safe in the first place until it the feeling had. The thought of a country without a human to represent them sounded preposterous, though. Even if they were fatally wounded, they would eventually heal on their own. It was just how things went.

The thought of a nation dying for no reason was…almost scary. It gave them a sudden look at their 'immortality'—were they as indestructible as they thought they were?

"Thank you, Miss Lauren. This will help greatly with our investigation." England tucked his pen behind his ear and closed his notebook with a snap, then gestured for an exhausted Canada to follow him.

She suddenly reached forwards and touched Canada's shoulder before he could get up. "I hope you find your brother. I'm so sorry about what's happened."

He stared at her for a second, then nodded and gave her a tight smile. "Yeah…I hope we do too. Thank you."

Then he got up and left the bar, and found England standing on the porch, staring into the clear blue sky.

"His car isn't here."

England looked in surprise at Canada, obviously having been deep in thought. The Englishman had flown to America as soon as he had heard what had happened—they were keeping the disappearance quiet for now, until they could figure out what had happened. There was no need to tip off the other countries of America's vulnerable state.

"What do you mean?" The Englishman snorted, and turned to face him fully. "He doesn't _live _in Vegas; he doesn't have a car—"

"Yeah, he does." Canada walked past him, and England followed him without question. "He has homes everywhere. New York, DC, Florida, Texas, Illinois…Las Vegas." They stopped next to their rental car. "He keeps a car everywhere, too. That car? It's his favorite car. He won it at a casino. And it's not here."

England watched him steadily over the top of the vehicle. "Then he could have been anywhere—could _be _anywhere."

Canada leaned against on the grey surface, grinning slightly. "We're in _Las Vegas. _There's only one place you can get _any _fresh air nearby."

"Where?"

Canada dropped into the driver's seat, waiting for England to follow before saying, "The Desert National Wildlife Range."

~OSH~

They found America's car...and they also found Tony, America's alien friend. He was half in, half outside the vehicle, and was fiddling with something under the dashboard. Canada hadn't thought about the young alien in a while, and opened his mouth to call out to the alien—maybe he could help with the investigation.

England however, did something entirely different. Normally he didn't mind the alien, but seeing him there, right after America had vanished…after all, Tony _was _from an alien world. They didn't _quite _know where his loyalties lay…well, it was understandable what England did next.

One second he was staring at the alien, the next he in front of the car, yanking out the creature and slamming him against smooth surface of the door.

"_Where is he?" _England hissed, so close to Tony's wide red eyes he could see the tiny shapes that made up the entire thing. Sort of like a fly, he mused in the back of his feverishly raged mind.

"England!" Canada's alarmed voice shouted, and a hand suddenly appeared on his shoulder. With a growl England shrugged off the grip, fully intent on getting the truth from this being. "Calm down, England!"

"He knows something. Why else would he be digging around in America's car? He's an _alien. _Killing friends might be an integral part of their _culture." _It was the anger that was speaking, and Tony the alien seemed to realize this.

The little grey alien winced and wiggled his neck under England's taut arm. "Let me go, fucking limey. Use your tiny human brain for once."

His grip tightened for a second, before common sense took hold—he was jumping to conclusions too fast. He loosened his arm slightly, trying to think around his rage—Tony and Canada were right, he was too angry right now, he needed to take a second to breathe…still, though, he didn't let go. The sight was too suspicious to let go unquestioned. After several minutes to regain control of himself, England spat out, "Talk to him, Canada." He didn't trust himself to speak.

Canada meekly stepped in. "What were you doing in America's car?"

"It's _complicated_."

England twitched. "Try us." It came out as a low growl.

Tony glared at the two of them, though he seemed especially wary of England—no one wondered why that was. "I was getting something from the car. I stored a tracking device in there in case I ever lost America." He hesitated, and then added reluctantly, "They're in every one of his cars."

England's brow furrowed in confusion. "You expected something like this to happen?"

The little alien rolled his eyes—well, at least they thought he did. It was a little hard to tell. "I told you, it's complicated. Now let me go so we can talk about this _like fucking gentlemen." _

England gave him one last mistrustful look, before removing his hands from Tony's neck entirely. The alien dropped to the ground, rubbing his neck and coughing. Canada couldn't help but feel a little bad about that, and offered a quiet, "Sorry." Even though it wasn't his fault.

"Next time control your fucking limey so he doesn't try to strangle me." Though he sounded a little sharp, he waved his hand, as though brushing off the apology. Canada acknowledged this gratefully as Tony sat cross-legged on the ground. "Well, come on. Sit down. We don't have all day."

Canada plopped onto the ground willingly enough, but England remained standing, face contorted in a snarl. "How can we trust anything you have to say?"

Tony shrugged. "Do you even have a choice?"

England conceded defeat, and slowly dropped into a graceful sitting position next to Canada.

After they had settled in front of Tony, the little alien took something out of the belt around his waist, and placed it on the ground. It was a flat metallic disk, with no markings on it. For a second Tony hesitated—"What was the password again?"—before making some sort of sign on the top of the disk. There was an anticlimactic moment when nothing happened— but then Canada and England gasped when the metal began flowing like quicksilver off the top of the strange disk, and something that looked a bit like a lens formed on the top of the metallic surface. A second later, a perfect replication of the earth appeared in the air in front of them, beautifully detailed for being so tiny. Canada and England gasped again at the sight of it. The little disk was obviously some sort of projector.

Tony let them stare at the small device for a few minutes—they had never seen this sort of technology before, after all—before asking, "You know _who_ you are…but have you ever considered _what _you are?"

Canada and England glanced at each other, confused. "We're…countries?" England answered unsurely, and Canada shrugged, though a thoughtful expression overtook his face. "We've never really thought about it."

Tony sighed and shook his head. "Great. I have to explain this. Get comfortable, because this is going to take a while." He pinched his fingers over the light projection of the earth, and then seemed the throw it—and then the solar system appeared, and the earth and all the other planets were much smaller so as to fit the image all in one place. Then he pinched the sun, and flicked that—and the galaxy appeared—and again he pinched and flicked, and there were many galaxies¸ all floating around in the projection.

"That's beautiful." Canada murmured, eyes lighting up with childish delight; England couldn't help but agree.

"Yeah." Tony sounded very proud, before continuing to speak. "A little background information first. And pay attention, because I'm not explaining this twice. And no asking questions till the end." He glared at the nations, before starting. "This is your quadrant. You're quadrant makes up another quadrant, which makes up another quadrant… I know you idiots don't know this because you haven't traveled outside of your galaxy, but a lot of us have. And this is our quadrant...I live nearby. You have three inhabited planets in your galaxy…" Tony pointed towards the tiny picture of the Milky Way, before turning to another galaxy very close by. "This is the Andromeda galaxy. It's not actually _called_ the Andromeda galaxy; everything will just be one hundred percent easier if we refer to things as human terms." He glared at the two of them, perhaps for their ignorance. "This is where I come from. I share this galaxy with four other species, one of which is important in our story. But they're for later." He pointed to one other galaxy that was sort of close by, but not as close as the Andromeda.

"This is where the story starts. The Triangulum galaxy, sometimes referred to as the Pinwheel galaxy. Five inhabited planets, though it used to be six." Tony grabbed the tiny galaxy between his fingers, and tugged out with both hands. Instantly the galaxy filled the air. He reached into one of the arms of the structure and tugged, and kept doing so until they had reached a small solar system, not unlike their own. There were four planets, one of which was a gas giant. "This is a deserted solar system, though it used to be filled with life and promise. The Natnotic people used to live on this planet…" He grabbed one of the rocky planets and tugged on its edges so it filled up the screen. It was blackened and deserted; there appeared to be no life on it. Tony reached forwards and gently began flicking with his finger, so the planet began turning backwards, faster and faster…and then life began appearing. Purples and a peculiar red color began covering the surface, with some blues. It was obvious that this was what the planet had looked like before it had been desecrated. England and Canada shuffled closer to get a better look.

"This is the planet Natnotica, as it was centuries ago…" Tony stroked his chin, staring at the planet with almost a wistful expression on his face. "It was a beautiful planet, with much life and laughter. The people were peaceful, because they all shared a telepathic connection with each other. They all understood each other; peace reigned for thousands of years…" He sighed. "But then Regisek came." He spat the name with such vehemence the two nations recoiled.

"This violent race comes from my galaxy; we have spent millennia beating them off of our planet. They look for conquest; they look for other planets to settle. Then after the leader does the dirty work and destroys a planet, usually a crew member will kill the leader and take control. It's a cutthroat bunch, and I hope you never meet them.

"The Regisek came to Natnotica, and saw the race it held…they were tall and strong. If the Natnotican people ever put their minds to war, they would decimate the galaxies, because of their unity and their unnatural strength and intelligence. The only reason the Regisek won was because the Natnotic people had no defense—they had never fought battle, and had never considered extraterrestrial attacks. War was a foreign concept in itself to them. Needless to say, they were easily taken over.

"However through the telepathic connection, word managed to get out—and the Natnotic people—well, they're pretty good at making spaceships, but they never really considered going outside of their own solar system…they managed to fill several escape ships and send them off world, in the hopes that the survivors would survive and liberate them.

"It did not work. While the Natnotic people still on the planet were enslaved and tortured, beaten and persecuted, the escaped refugees all slowly died out, until only one ship survived. Slowly all the people on that ship died, too, until there was only one Natnotican left. His name was Pan. Exhausted and dying, and on the run from Regisek ships, Pan hid from them in a solar system in the Milky Way galaxy…and then crash landed onto a planet, one you are very familiar with."

Tony pinched Natnotic, and flung it away—and then the earth appeared, in all its glory.

England was the first to make the connection—his eyes widened suddenly, and his fingers clenched the ground. "_Pangaea." _

"Very good." Tony nodded, while Canada's mouth dropped in shock. "The Natnotic people take their strength from the land, and the people's health—telepathic connection and all. They're almost immortal, and have quick healing. Pan was invigorated by the large continent he had landed on…he took the form of a large dinosaur." Tony's mouth twitched into a smile. "When Pangaea split, Pan didn't have another option—he was split in many pieces as well, one for each continent. He wrote down his history, of course, but the many pieces of him forgot it, and eventually the past was lost to nature. The pieces of Pan still recalled some bits, though—Natnotica became 'Nation'. Pan became 'Pangaea'. But still, most of the history was lost…

"When humans became the dominant species, Pan's many pieces—which numbered in the hundreds by now—took the form of them. When new borders and new thoughts formed, Pan's pieces formed to their ideals—into _them. _A representative of the people. As nations fell, pieces of Pan were either absorbed into another, or the piece was reformed as another nation."

The two countries stared at Tony with wide eyes, mouths dropped. Their expressions were very similar—extreme shock. He smiled wryly at them.

"Congratulations, guys, I'm not the only alien on this planet."

* * *

><p>America woke when someone splashed cold water on his face.<p>

He jerked violently, sputtering in shock as the liquid jolted him out of his sleep. _"What the hell?" _He howled, rubbing his eyes while simultaneously trying to hear the laughter of whoever had done that. "I swear to God, whichever punkass did that is going—"

And then the water was alive, and electricity was flowing through him—barely enough to hurt, mostly just to shock. His eyes snapped open as he was about to let loose on whoever would _do _that sort of thing to the sleeping nation, but then he stopped dead in his tracks.

He was…on a floor, in a room, one wrist chained to the wall. He looked up to see an opening in the ceiling slide shut—obviously where the water had come from. His eyes hovered curiously over where the opening had been—there were no seams, nothing to show where the water had come from. Puzzled, he let his eyes wander.

The room was quite strange in itself—it was completely smooth, no signs of it being built, almost as though it had been sewn out of metal itself…it was strangely familiar, this design—

The metal ball. Last night…_getting swallowed up by the mechanical thing, blacking out—_

_Where am I?_

He slowly got to his feet—luckily he was still wearing his clothes—and began examining the surrounding area with curious and slightly scared eyes. His eyes darted downwards when he heard a soft jangling noise, which turned out to be a metal chain connecting him to the wall, also made out of that odd material. His anxiety deepened as he stared at the restraints.

Was something…supernatural going on? Or maybe something extraterrestrial? He didn't know—though if it was alien, he knew that Tony would probably bail him out. _Maybe I did something to offend the Galaxy Police. _He though, brightening to the idea. _That would be so cool. _

Then the metal off to his left parted, giving entrance to whoever was entering. It formed a circular door, and three people—obviously aliens—entered, and stood in front of him. The door closed quietly behind them, never making a noise.

America couldn't help but stare at them—and they stared at him in turn. They were all the same species—he assumed, anyway—all smooth skinned, no blemishes of any sort, their heads shaped a bit like bricks, color bright green. Their eyes were on the sides of their heads, and they _appeared _to be glaring at him, though it wasn't very intimidating since their black eyes were kind of tiny, and they had no eyebrows. They were quite tall, with impossibly long legs and short torsos, with long arms and spindly, thin fingers.

The one on the end was dressed in what appeared to be a skirt and a thick fluffy jacket—America _would _have assumed that it was a girl, except that once he had laughed at Scotland for wearing a kilt, and he had gotten the _crap _beaten out of him—and it was wearing what seemed to be leather boots.

The one in the middle had something that looked like a scar across the front of its brick-like face, and was 'glaring' the hardest at him. It was dressed in loose-fitting pants and a leather tank top, with something that oddly resembled moccasins on its feet. It also had a thick black belt and something that vaguely looked like a gun, though it was hard for America to tell.

The last one was the shortest, and it also looked the weakest. It was looking nervously at America, then at the one in the middle, then at the floor. In its hand it held some sort of device—a recorder? Something to write on? It was wearing a long black lab coat and a purple body suit, and it's feet were bare.

"Natnotican."

America's head jolted towards the one in the middle, staring at it with wide eyes. It didn't appear to have a mouth…how had it spoken? And _what _had it just called him?

"Do you understand us, Natnotican?" It growled at him, putting one hand on its gun-like thing. America quietly labeled it a male—it sounded like one, and acted like one as well.

"Um." He responded intelligently, still in shock.

"Inability to understand words." The middle one turned to the one in the lab coat, who cowered under his gaze. "_Write it down."_

"H-Hey!" America shouted, a little shocked at the treatment—weren't the two of them the same species? He was so cruel!

The three of them froze in shock, and then the one in a skirt let out a loud bark…laughter? "Look at that, _Kazhok. _It _does _understand." It sounded female, so America silently labeled it a girl.

"That's impossible. That was a fluke." The one called 'Kazhok' whipped out the gun and placed it on America's nose. "It's a stupid Natnotican. It doesn't understand _anything. _I'll bet it doesn't know I could kill it right now if I wanted to._"_

"D-don't you think that that's a little unfair?" America winced at the feeling—the weapon almost had the consistency of a liquid. Maybe if he tried to be polite the alien would stop being so antagonistic? "And please get that out of my face. I know what that is."

Even the one in the skirt jumped in shock this time—they simply stared at him for several seconds, as though mentally analyzing him. Then the little one in the lab coat let out what sounded like a squeak, and began talking towards the device in its hand. America couldn't decide what gender it was—it's voice was squeaky and pitchless, and it's actions suggested either male or female.

"Not only does it understand fluently…" It hissed excitedly, "It speaks fluently. Also has an awareness of its surroundings, and is able to form arguments. Understands weapons, though shows an ignorance towards social standing. Obviously some sort of intelligence. Perhaps the former confusion was because the creature was in a state of shock…? Requires more observations." It brushed its finger across the surface of the device and then clutched the machine closer, looking quite pleased with itself.

The minute the one in the lab coat finished, Kazhok turned to the alien in the skirt. "One more word Marzha, and I will shoot you."

She gave the air of being…amused? Before speaking. "Of course, Kazhok."

"Listen…sorry for interrupting, but why am I here?" America interjected them, as politely as he could. They glanced up at him, and America thought that if they had eyelids they would be blinking them in surprise at him. "See, it's common courtesy on our planet to tell a person why they're being carted away _before _being carted away."

Marzha reached out a hand to stop Kazhok before he could turn and respond to America's question. "Let me speak, Kazhok." Then she slowly approached America, as though he were a wild, dangerous animal. "How did you escape from the Regisek?"

He stared at her blankly. "The what?"

She hesitated, before continuing. "I don't know what you call them on your planet, but they were the ones that enslaved your people and forced you to escape so long ago. Surely you remember them…?"

There was a sudden pounding in his head. He rubbed his temples quietly, wincing minutely at the feeling, before responding. "I…don't know what you're talking about."

"What do you mean you don't know?" Marzha cried incredulously, turning to look at Kazhok and the little alien. "Sahzek, you _swore _that you had found one of the last Natnotican people!"

His headache suddenly increased, pressing into his head, sending a painful pounding throughout him.

Sahzek was staring at America with a bewildered expression on his face. "The scanner says that he is most _definitely _one of them…" He checked his scanner again, then looked back up—and promptly did a double take. "…oh."

"Don't tell me you made a mistake, Sahzek." Kazhok whipped around and placed the gun at the base of Sahzek's neck. "If you did I will—"

The little scientist began trembling violently, long spindly fingers held up in an expression of surrender. "No mistakes, Lord Kazhok! He is—he is one part of a whole! There are obviously more of them, down on that planet down there—earth! We must retrieve all of them if we want to get the last Natnotican!"

Kazhok growled, and pressed the gun closer. "Why didn't you know _at first?" _

America's eyes narrowed; even if this 'Kazhok' guy was a lord, he should treat his subordinates better! Unbeknownst to the others in the room, Kazhok had just activated America's 'big-must-protect-weak' mode. He puffed out his chest, stuck out his chin, and marched over to Kazhok and Sahzek. Marzha stared at him curiously as he passed, but did nothing to stop him. America lifted Kazhok into the air by the back of his neck and gently plucked the gun out of his hand, and then handed it to Marzha, who fumbled and nearly dropped it bemusedly. Then he deposited Kazhok in an ungraceful heap on the floor, ignoring Sahzek's frightened squeals. "Hey! Dude! Back off, he didn't do anything wrong!"

"Y-You dare?" Kazhok spat, completely ignoring America's words completely. He seemed so angry that he could barely form actual words. "You _dare _touch a _Lord?_ I am Lord Kazhok, the most famous trader in all the quadrants! You _dare _manhandle me?!"

"_First _you claim I'm some sort of alien, which I'm _not." _Pleased that he had made that point clear, America moved on, snorting and folding his arms, ignoring the quiet rattle of his chains. "All I see is a big asshole picking on some weak looking guy. Just because you have power doesn't mean you should use it to be cruel to others!" Oh yeah, he was _really _in his righteous mode.

"Marzha, give me my gun. I don't _care _about the money; this _trash _has gone too far!" Kazhok was glaring at America, who stared defiantly back.

"I don't know, Kazhok, he's kind of funny. Besides, you _weren't _being very nice to Sahzek." She stroked the gun thoughtfully, obviously having no intention of giving it back to him. "And _you _might not care about the money, but I do." Her voice became cold and unforgiving. "I will not let your pride get in the way of my _pay._ He and the other parts of the last Natnotican _will _be delivered to the Regisek for full price, whether I have to shoot you or _no." _She knelt down and grabbed Kazhok's collar, putting her brick face up to his. "Remember Kazhok, you may be the Trading Lord…but I am a _Lady. _We don't play by the same _rules." _Then she dropped the stunned alien, and rose to her feet. "Sahzek, tag it and prepare to land on the planet to collect the rest of them. Do you understand?"

The little scientist shivered and nodded, while America stared at her in surprise—her personality had just done a complete 180. He had never considered that alien women would be just as confusing as human women.

Then, she turned back to the wall—the door formed in front of her—and Marzha left. Kazhok scrambled to his feet, glared at America, then followed her. Finally only Sahzek and America were left—they glanced at each other, before America finally spoke.

"Well. That was interesting."

* * *

><p>Tony's ship was hovering a few feet above the desert, the countries inside curled uncomfortably against the walls; they couldn't even stand the ceiling was so short. To make it worse, Tony wouldn't shut up.<p>

"The minute I met your brother I knew what he was." Tony was fiddling with something that appeared to be a pair of glasses, though it looked a little more high tech than that. They were in Tony's spaceship, which was disk shaped and appeared to be cluttered with all sorts of alien equipment. Canada and England were still quite shocked, though they had shaken off most of their surprise. After all, they had to rescue America. "There was residual telepathic energy all _over _him, and there's only one species that could give off that much. I eventually realized, though, that he was actually not a whole Natnotican—just one piece. After getting the scoop from the local nomad who lived on Mars—" England and Canada twitched. "—I finally figured out what had happened. And I knew…I had to protect him, keep him safe from the people that would undoubtedly come."

"Is he going to be ok?" Canada couldn't help but interrupt weakly, trying not to feel hurt by the fact Tony had only resolved to protect _one _of them and not _all _of them.

Tony looked up at him, surprised. "Oh, I didn't tell you? The tracker says he got nabbed by Lord Kazhok's ship—they trade alien species, and are considered to be the best of the best. They use telepathic signals to manipulate the nervous system, so they never have to fight anything." He put the glasses in front of his two red eyes, and then muttered something about tiny human vision before setting them down on the ground.

"Is he going to be okay?" Canada asked, alarm clear in his voice.

"Yeah, he should be fine. I equipped a translator in his head on his birthday, so he can get around alien languages pretty well." Tony nodded to himself, seemingly satisfied.

England and Canada glanced unsurely at each other, before England asked, "Are…we going to get him?" the same time Canada muttered almost inaudibly, "In his head?"

Tony glanced up at them again, this time more annoyed than anything else—though he completely ignored Canada's question. "What do you think I've been _doing?" _He shook his head and sighed loudly. "America is just one piece of the whole puzzle. They're going to come back for the rest of you—just one piece of a Natnotican isn't worth much. The Regisek want the whole thing. I'm making some glasses for you guys so you'll be able to see the doors, which should make escaping infinitely easier."

Again, the two clueless nations glanced at each other. "Doors?" England prompted weakly.

Tony twitched, turned to them, and said in a low, derisive hiss, "Doors. You can't _see _the doors. I'm making you something so you _can_ seethe doors. Do you understand, _fucking limey?" _

England winced and nodded. There was a long second of silence…and then Tony suddenly turned to Canada and growled, "Say 'like in a secret agent movie'."

Bewildered, he glanced at England, who shrugged back.

"Just say it!" Tony's voice became more insistent—Canada stared at the little alien in surprise, before saying,

"Just like in a secret agent movie…?"

Tony didn't seem to mind that it ended in a question mark—he simply grinned at Canada and responded, "Not exactly, but you get the idea."

The two nations looked at each other again, more puzzled than ever—though Tony was in such a mood that they chose not to comment on it. Instead they watched the little alien as he worked—he finally seemed satisfied with the glasses, and stuffed them into some sort of machine. It was small and squat, shaped like a fat box. After the glasses had been deposited inside it snapped shut, and Tony began fiddling with the controls on top of the strange device. A second later, there was a _ding! _sound, and Tony reached inside and took out the glasses again—except now there were two, not just one.

The two nations stared. "What _is _that?" Canada murmured, inching closer, England silently echoing his question.

"It's like a copy machine. It copies things. Okay, these have everything we need." Tony tossed them each a pair, which they both caught with confusion. "You'll be able to see the doors, open them, and there will be a communicator so we can talk. Press the button on the side and a map of the ship will pop up…" He took a larger pair out of his belt and put it on his head, and the countries watched in fascination as two straps extended from each end and wrapped around Tony's cranium, connecting at the back. "Put them on like so."

They both mimicked Tony, though it was kind of a bemused, jerky mimicry. The minute the glasses came on, they gasped—their world had just turned a light orange, but a lot of the equipment in Tony's ship was an electric blue.

"Why is all of your stuff blue?" England asked curiously.

"That shows all the machinery that uses cloaking equipment. I can see it naturally because I programmed it. I use a lot of the same equipment as the traders." A proud note entered Tony's voice. "They actually got all of their tech from us. We're one of the most advanced races in the universe."

Canada nodded, fascinated by the whole thing. How many times did you get to look at alien tech?

Suddenly, one of the little electronic machines nearby beeped loudly. Tony glanced at it, then grinned. "Well guys, that's your ride. Good luck."

Before they could do anything, Tony slammed his fist down on a nearby button, and the ground opened up beneath the two countries feet. They tumbled through the air and hit the desert sand, before the little spaceship let out a tiny whine and flew away.

"…little bastard abandoned us." England rose to his feet, staring after Tony, anger beginning to morph his features.

Canada coughed lightly to get England's attention, before pointing towards the sky, where a giant metallic ball was descending towards the two of them. "I think that's the least of our problems."

* * *

><p>"I'm hungry."<p>

Sahzek looked up from his note taking, and blinked owlishly at the American, who had been mostly silent for the majority of the time, only once making noise—when he had snapped the chains from his wrist. Or when he was whining about the tag Sahzek had stabbed painfully into his ear—after paralyzing him with some sort of electrical device. "Sorry?"

America rolled onto his stomach and looked up at the alien, giving him his best puppy-dog look—though maybe it wouldn't work on aliens. "I haven't had breakfast or lunch. I'm starving! Is there some sort of alien food that I might actually like on this flying tin can?"

"You…" The alien gave him a bewildered look, shifting in the chair that he had placed near the door, "…have been taken hostage by an alien trading ship, have just been told you are an alien, and all you can think about is _food?"_

America shrugged his broad shoulders. "Priorities, man. The tank is running on empty." He paused. "And I'm not an alien."

The writing utensil-like thing in Sahzek's hand-thing slowed to a stop, and he curiously leaned forwards, completely distracted from his writing. "Do you honestly not remember anything about the planet you hail from? Natnotica?"

The headache that had been tingling at the back of America's head suddenly began pounding again. He winced, unconsciously placing a hand on his temple, resting his elbow on the hard ground. Sahzek watched the movement with shameless curiosity. "…no."

"Are you sure?" Sahzek leaned closer, odd eyes gleaming. "Nothing about Pan? The Regisek? Crash landing on—"

_He was very tired. His brethren were dead, he had long since thrown their bodies into a nearby star…there was a planet not too far from him, an expanse if immeasurable blue, one that looked habitable and clean—_

"No!" He violently shook off the vision, feeling it fading behind a cloud he hadn't even noticed in his mind before now. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not an alien."

Sahzek seemed to realize that he was close to clearing the fog in America's mind, and leaned closer. If America didn't know better, he would have thought the creature was smirking at him.

_But I'm not an alien. _He rubbed his forehead, eyes closed. _I…can't be. I would know. Wouldn't I?_

"Have you ever thought about what you _are?" _Sahzek asked.

He was…he wasn't human, that he knew for sure. None of the countries were human. But that didn't make him an alien, did it—?

_The ship was crashing. Fire cracked the glass and whirled around him, licking at his body, even as he piloted the ship as best as he could towards the ground. He could see that he was heading towards the only landmass on the tiny planet, but it was sizable enough, and there were tiny creatures on it—_

Unbeknownst to America, who was deep inside his nightmares, the metal door opened up, and two other bipedal creatures were shoved inside. One of them had bright blond hair and striking violet eyes, a pair of oddly shaped orange glasses on his face. The other was also blond, though his was more of a dirty blond, and his sharp green eyes were also hidden behind a similar pair of orange glasses. They had been led by Marzha to the confinement area, after undergoing the same disorienting process that America had. For several seconds, the two creatures just stood there, looking a little stunned and dazed, before they realized that someone else was in the room with them.

The moment the violet-eyed one saw his brother writhing around on the ground, hands clutching his head, he gasped and rushed to his sibling's side. "America!" Canada cried, grabbing hold of his shoulders. "What have they done to you?"

Nobody noticed Sahzek leaving the room, obviously frightened of these newcomers, who was followed by a vaguely amused Marzha. She obviously hadn't told him anything about the situation.

England knelt down next to him, examining the American with quick, searching eyes—they hovered for just a second over the tag. "I don't think they've hurt him too badly. I hope." A second later there was a crackling sound, and then Tony's voice sounded in his ear—he barely managed to restrain a jump of shock.

"Whew, the glasses are working. For a second I was…" Tony trailed off, obviously able to see what was going on through England's glasses. "Oh _shit. _Those bastards."

England managed to shake off his shock, before opening his mouth to ask what was going on. Tony cut him off before he could voice his question. "Don't talk. They don't know a thing about these glasses, and I'd like to keep the advantage. This room was designed to enhance memories—I'm assuming they guessed that Pan would have lost a few of his memories along the way. But it's inhumane. Hurts like a bitch. You guys need to get out of there quickly, before America passes out or remembers _everything, _neither of which would be pretty. Now is actually a perfect time."

England opened his mouth to ask a question, before closing it with a snap and instead directing his attention to America, who was still wiggling, obviously in pain. Canada was whispering in his ear, trying to reach out to his almost comatose brother.

"We can't do anything for him until you get him out of this room." Tony paused. "One second, I've got to give a heads up to Canada." There was another crackle, like static, and then silence. A moment later, Canada stopped and sat up, obviously attentive. Then he nodded, and reached towards his brother, lifting him into his arms with relative ease.

The crackle was back. "Okay, all good." The little alien obviously didn't want to mince words—he spoke hurriedly, with purpose. "You see that blue shape on the wall?"

Still a little shocked by the whole venture, England looked around, eyes landing on the bright blue door-like thing. "How could I miss it?" He muttered, and Canada nodded next to him; they were obviously connected to the same channel, and could both hear Tony's directions. The two countries stopped in front of the door, waiting further instruction, unsure of what to do next.

"At the top of the door, if you touch it, a little black thing will drop down. You've got to—I'll just do that part from here, but just make the little black box thing drop down."

England glanced at Canada, who shrugged helplessly back, struggling slightly under the weight of his cargo, which was still twisting and moaning every few seconds. The older nation reached up and touched the top of the door, then watched in slight surprise as the black box—as promised—dropped.

Tony sounded very smug. "It's a shortcut. If a separate species ever needed to operate a door for an emergency, those were added." There was a pause, and then the door made a sort of squishing noise and opened. "Now keep moving. I've hacked into this pathetic system's operations, so I know where everything is. A couple feet ahead of you there _should _be an intersection…"

England reached up and pressed the button on his glasses, and a second later a map appeared in his vision. "Wicked." He muttered, a grin spreading across his face. Before Tony had a chance to respond, the two were interrupted by a soft, weak voice.

"Canada." Said nation looked down in surprise when he felt a weak touch on his arm, and England stopped as wel and glanced over at the person who had spoken—America. "I'm fine. Let me down." Obligingly Canada gently lowered his brother, who was obviously still out of it—there was a distracted look in his gaze, and he wobbled slightly. "Sorry. I can move on my own now."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Canada asked, keeping a firm hand on his back, feeling the muscles shaking beneath his light touch.

"I'm fine." America shook off the helping hand and gave his brother a weak smile. "Just got a killer headache. Now how are we getting off of this joint?"

Both realized that America was lying to them, but they didn't have time to question him about it right now. After they all got off the ship—_that _was when they would interrogate him.

"Tony." England gestured to the glasses, where the little alien was being unusually silent. "He gave us these glasses."

America was about to respond, when Tony's voice suddenly crackled to life—over their heads. They all glanced up in shock.

"Okay, break time's over." Tony said grimly. "They know you guys are gone. I managed to get into the sound system, but you better hurry. I locked them in their rooms, but it won't hold Kazhok or Marzha for long. There's an escape pod not too far from here, there's enough room for all of you guys." When he saw their hesitance, he barked, "HURRY!"

"_Where, _Tony?" America shouted back, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice at the alien's obvious lack of concentration.

There was a stunned silence, and then something that sounded like…laughter? "I missed you, boss." Tony chuckled, also sounding a bit embarrassed. "It's to your left."

America grinned into the air, looking as amused as Tony sounded, face lit up with childish amusement, still standing there—even though Canada and England were already moving towards the exit. "Okay!"

And suddenly, Canada understood why Tony wanted him to ask that question back in the ship—the one not at all related to the subject. It was because it was something only someone like America would say, and…Tony had actually _missed _his brother. _It's sort of cute, and sort of sad, in a way, _He mused, _Though I can't decide whether to be flattered or annoyed…_

After a few more turns they found the escape pods—there were three or four of them, though the pods were large enough to hold all three of them. As Canada dropped inside first, England waited patiently by the hatch, and America talked quietly with Tony a few feet away.

"America!" England called as soon as Canada was safely stowed.

"One second!" America waved away the older nation, before looking into the sky. "Tony, is there a self-destruct mechanism on this ship?"

There was a long pause as the little alien checked. "Yeah. I've set it for five minutes; that should give you plenty of time to get back safely. Now go!"

He grinned towards the speakers again and turned back to England, ready to get out of this blasted place…but then blue caught green, but green wasn't look _at _him, it was looking _through _him, eyes widening as he stared in horror—

America threw himself to the floor, just in time to get out of the way of a deadly swing by Marzha's weapon. He scrambled to the side as she lifted up the sword-like thing and brought it down at his prone body—he propped himself against the wall and lashed out with one foot, catching her with a superhuman kick in the side. She gasped loudly, obviously not expecting the strength in America's blow, and the nation took the time to jump up and start running towards the escape pod.

He was stopped when Kazhok's tall form abruptly slammed itself against England, knocking him fully into the escape pod, before slamming the hatch shut, effectively sealing the two countries inside. When his eyes caught America's, the nation realized that he and Kazhok didn't have to be the same species to see the madness roiling just beneath the surface, let loose by the obvious defeat of his trading ship. "You won't see them again," Kazhok hissed, ignoring the sounds of pounding glass—England and Canada were throwing all their strength at the alien substance. The alien slammed his hand down on a button on the center of the escape pod. "I'm sending them into deep space."

America stared despairingly at the alien, and then looked over his own shoulder at Marzha, who was still recovering. She wore a furious expression—at least, he thought it looked furious—on her face, clutching her ribs with one hand. He turned to look back at England, eyes burning in defiance and fury, and then at Canada, whose deep gaze calmed him and steadied him.

It was obvious that he was outmatched. He honestly didn't see a way to save himself _and _the two trapped in the escape pod…

Then, salvation.

A tinny voice crackled over the speakers, and Tony's confident voice broke the stillness in the air. The two aliens jumped, but America just looked up expectantly. "Not if I can help it." There was a beeping noise—and then the escape pod loosed itself from the ship. America watched in horror…but then sighed in relief when Tony's ship came out and caught the pod in its tractor beam. "You have one minute until this ship implodes. Get out of there _now._ Even _you_ can't survive that."

America went to nod his head, but was stopped when a body barreled rather rudely right into him, knocking him to the ground. A second later a booted foot placed itself on his back, holding him there. Kazhok's voice sounded out a moment later, primal rage evident. "We won't let you escape."

"We'll shoot you first." Marzha, her cold voice still calm and controlled, even as the clock counted down for the ship's destruction.

"Just try and stop me!" America shouted back, and rolled over, catching the foot on his back in one hand. There was a bark as Marzha's gun went off, but it was too late—America had Kazhok's ankle in his iron grasp, and he threw the large alien at the female, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Without further ado, he scrambled to his feet and ran towards the emptied escape pod hangar.

There was one last bark of the gun, and something slammed into his shoulder—he stumbled slightly, rolled, but then got up and kept going. _Just a little more…! _He lowered his head like a battering ram and crashed through the doors, sending a javelin of pain through his head—there was a screech, and then he crashed through the second set of doors, out into the frigid, empty air of space, but there was fire on his heels—

Blackness.

* * *

><p>"Where is he?" Canada could feel himself beginning to shake—his brother was either floating aimlessly in space, or had just been imploded on the alien ship. Neither option sounded very good. This wasn't helped by the fact the two were still floating in Tony's tractor beam, stuck in the escape pod, and there were little bits of the ship floating all around them—just the image of his brother in a million little pieces, floating around in this rubble was enough to make him near-hysterical. "What happened to Alfred?"<p>

England sat beside him, though his back was turned to Canada, and he was staring out the window; he hadn't uttered a word for several minutes.

"Calm down." Tony's voice was back in the glasses, his sound system having been ripped away from him. "Don't waste your air. I'm scanning for him right now—if he's still alive, then I should be able to pick up where he is."

"_If he's still alive?" _It came out as a high pitched squeak. "No. Not a chance. Either you find him within the next five seconds or I'm going to jump out of this escape pod and go looking for him myself."

"That's crazy, you'll be killed right along with him!" Tony sounded impatient—but there was a hint of desperation in his voice. "America isn't like that, he wouldn't want you to—"

"He'd do the same for me." Canada rose as best he could—once again, he found his back flush against the walls, fighting for room to stand up in.

"I'll come with." England said suddenly, rising to his feet—a little less awkwardly, he was shorter than Canada. Something the younger nation noticed about him almost immediately was the fact that his face was drawn with tension, lines of age spreading across his visage. "It's my fault…I couldn't stop that alien. If I did, we wouldn't be in this situation—"

There was a whooshing noise over the glasses intercom, and it took a second for Canada to realize that it was a sigh. "You two, with the fucking hero complexes. Sit down. I found him, I'm bringing him in."

Neither sat—neither one could have, even if they wanted to.

It needed to be said—Canada whispered tentatively, almost frightened of the answer, "Is he alive?"

There was a long silence—it answered his question though. After that long pause, Tony spoke, quiet but determined. "I'm bringing us in for a landing in the US. We can probably get some help there*."

It actually took only a few minutes to land on the surface of the earth, but it felt like hours to the two countries. In their tiny confinements, Canada counted every crack in the wall (there were none), counted every breath he took (which was a bit faster than his usual easy, slow pace), and he went over that awful scene where they were sitting in the escape pod, unable to help America as he battled his foes…

It was nerve racking. And if it was this bad for him, how much worse could it be for England? Canada glanced at the older nation, who had gone back to staring out the window as they fell slowly through the atmosphere. Now that he thought about it, England _was _blaming himself for whatever had happened to America, even though there was nothing he could have done about it.

It was nobody's fault.

England looked up at him in surprise, and it took a second for Canada to realize that he had actually said that last thought out loud.

"W-Well…" He began. "You were taken off guard—that alien just caught you by surprise. And Al wasn't hurt because your look told him that the other alien was there—so if you hadn't been there, things would have been a lot worse..." Canada's voice petered off into an awkward silence—hell, he didn't know if he was saying the right things. Him and his big mouth.

There was a soft clunking noise as the pod landed, but neither country broke their gazes, simply holding each other still with their non-vocal conversations. They had been so desperate to get out before of the pod before, but now…

Finally England smiled slightly and nodded, a bit of the tension on his tired face loosening, a weight lifting from his shoulders. "You're…right. Thank you, Canada." He seemed to get what Canada was trying to say.

_It's not your fault. _

"_I hate to break up the guilt-sap party, but I've gotta run. The ambulance is closing in on your location, and I don't want to imagine what sort of widespread panic I would cause if I was seen." _Tony sounded vaguely annoyed. _"Which means you've got to get out of the escape pod. You read me?"_

Wordlessly England pushed open the door, remembering to toss the glasses in behind him—they wouldn't need them anymore. Besides, he _really _didn't want to give Tony a look into his life. Canada followed him, though he kept his glasses—if he ever needed to get in touch with Tony again, these were his best option.

"Luck, Tony!" The Canadian called, waving at the spaceship as it lifted up from the ground. The craft hesitated, as though surprised, before bobbing slightly (almost like a nod) and disappearing into the sky.

For a second he simply watched Tony's disappearing ship, expression pensive yet curiously blank—until England called his name, snapping him from his trance-like state.

"Canada!"

The younger nation glanced over, and his eyes widened in shock when he saw that England was kneeling over a motionless body.

He ran.

* * *

><p><em>Two Months later<em>

"Remember to charge your space phone, and call every night. Here's some snacks, make them last, okay? Or at least try to." Canada was going through the bag, digging up its contents. "I packed you some McDonald's for lunch today, and I packed some entertainment." He lifted the portable movie player up to eye level, before dropping it down again. "And a few books too. I put in all your favorite movies, and…"

"Geez, mom." America rolled his eyes and lifted the bag from Canada's surprised hands. "I'll be fine. It's just for a month." There were still bandages on his face, but they were mostly just for show—America was still getting used to the burn scars, and whenever he looked in the mirror he tended to flinch.

America had stayed in the hospital for about three weeks, recovering from his brush with spaceship fire and the bullet, not only physically but mentally.

He was now sporting a variety of burn scars all over, but especially on his back. He would mostly likely have the scars for the rest of his life, but that was nothing new to a nation—he already had a multitude of healed wounds forever captured in his skin.

Not only that, but he had practically been bipolar those first few weeks—one moment he was acting like his old self, the next he was serene and calm. Always, though, he was sporting a horrible headache. Tony had said that this was because America's old memories were merging with his new memories, coupled with the fact that his telepathy was growing stronger. The Natnoticans had been peaceful people, and their minds had been open to every _one_ of their kind—which meant that America was starting to get some of those characteristics. The headache was not only from the memories, but also because his mind was getting opened up to other countries' thoughts.

After he had mostly recovered, or during the fourth week of the first month, America had an identity crisis. Honestly Canada had been expecting it for a while—after all; memories of being a completely different person were being forced into his head. It was only natural.

It had been hard. For nearly two weeks, America had been…well, he snapped. Broke like a twig. Canada had done his best to support his older brother as he tried to rediscover himself, as he warred with his own thoughts, but sometimes…it was just too much. His brother was going through something that Canada didn't really understand, so he couldn't _help _him. It was agonizing. England had tried to help at first, too, but he didn't have the patience to deal with America.

Only Canada did. Perhaps Tony could have helped at that point, but the little alien was somewhere else, even though his best friend needed him right then.

At the time Canada couldn't help but resent him a little for that.

And then Tony had returned, and apparently the reason he'd been gone was because he was cleaning up the mess with the traders and the Regisek. The Natnoticans were still a secret—for now anyway; no doubt someone would discover them again.

Canada had forgiven the little alien, of course. The best part—when Canada told Tony about what was going on, he said,

"_Your brother needs to discover himself again. His whole world was just turned upside down—I can take him with me to see his home planet, to see if that helps. Even though it's just a giant hunk of floating rock now," Tony smiled, "It's still your guys' home."_

America had agreed. Canada was a little leery of letting him off the planet—after all, this _was _his brother they were talking about. He would probably damage interplanetary relationships or something stupid like that—but still…maybe it would help.

That was all that mattered. But that didn't mean Canada had to _like _it.

The Canadian had to resist the urge to wipe his eyes, and instead gave his brother a watery smile. "You're an idiot. Remember to play nice with Tony, okay? Don't insult any alien leaders—actually, just let Tony do all the talking. Remember to take a coat when—"

America smiled quietly, and pressed his hand on top of Canada's blonde head, effectively silencing him. His expression was serious and calm, an unusual look that still caught Canada off guard. "Don't worry Canada. I swear, nothing will happen. I'll have Tony with me, yeah?"

Tears filled Canada's eyes, and he shook his head violently. This was…the way it had to be. He had to be strong, for the both of them. "If…If something happens, I'm going to get a whole battle fleet to track you down!" He paused for a second, before reaching forwards and poking his brother in the chest. "And if you do something stupid, I'll kick your ass all the way to the next quadrant, understand?"

He felt himself relax when America let out a boisterous laugh. Yes, _this _he could deal with. _This _was the America he knew. "I'd expect nothing less of my awesome little brother!" Then he wrapped his arms around Canada, hugging him tightly.

They stayed like that for a minute or so.

"…please be careful." Canada whispered, closing his eyes against his brother's coat, smelling the scent of car grease, hamburgers, and the unexpected undercurrent of pine.

"You know it." America responded back, and then there was an odd sensation on Canada's mind, as though it was being petted and soothed. He practically melted—the calming sensation was just a side-effect of the whole 'telepathy' thing, but it was wonderful.

"I hope you find what you're looking for." He breathed, and he wasn't sure if America had heard it or not—for some reason, though he thought America understood.

There they remained, in the complete silence, simply enjoying each other's—

"America, hurry up! I'm on a schedule here!"

Said American jumped in surprise, and looked to the sky, easily finding Tony's space ship with his eyes. "Sorry Tony!" He flashed Canada an easy smile.

"Go." The younger brother said, lips curling in response. He backed away from his older brother. "Remember what I said."

The tractor beam flashed into existence, completely encasing America in its gentle blue light.

"What are you worried about, Mattie?" America winked. "I _am _the hero, after all."

And then he vanished.

_Tell me, did you sail across sun? _

_Did you make it to the Milky Way to see the lights all faded, _

_And that Heaven is over rated?_

_Tell me, did you fall from a shooting star?_

_One without a permanent scar,_

_And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?_

_..._

_Tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet?_

_Did you finally get to dance along the light of day, _

_And head back to the Milky Way?_

_And tell me, did Venus blow your mind?_

_Was it everything you wanted to find,_

_And did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?_

_Drops of Jupiter, Train_

***At this point it was late, and I was approximately **_**thiiiis **_**close to actually killing him off. Just thought I should mention that.**

**Argh, why is this so long? I feel like this isn't very good, either...maybe it's just because I've been staring at it for at least a few weeks. Er...months. Literally. I started this late December, with the intent to post it on New Year's, but then...it just got longer and longer and longer...haha yeah. 12,000 words. *bangs head against computer***

**I have no idea where this one came from-but itsn't that how it always is? I never seem to know what I'm doing half the time, or where I'm going. Anyway, after this I have 6 (!) oneshots left before my big Hiatus.**

**Thanks again Gargoyle Alchemist, you always give me the best reviews! :) And of course Vampchick, hearing from you is always a pleasure. **

**Vampchick: I decided to take a different approach in that One Shot. I will admit, it's kind of refreshing to write something new. :) I'm glad you liked it.**

**Gargoyle Alchemist: I was going for that intent. After all, my main _is _angst. And I took your advice on something, so I guess listening to you made it that much better! Thanks!**

**So...my project has a TITLE. It's called 'To Condemn the Free'. Eeeeek I'm so excited. And I might have a new editor for it, so yayz! Halfway through the twelfth-er, 12th chapter. It's been a long, hard road with that story...And it's going to be posted within the year. It's kind of mind boggling for me. I just know I'm going to cry when it's all over...**

**IceEckos12**

**P.S. Like the new avatar? :D**

**P.P.S. ARGH THE NEW SEASON CAME OUT.**

**P.P.P.S. BTW, if anyone wants to do cover art for Condemn the Free, you know who to review. It would be mucho appreciated.**


	45. Bite Me

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.**

"You know…" Rodreich shivered as a cold, pale hand hovered over his pumping jugular, trying not to look at the man above him. "I've heard of types like you…and I must say, I _am _looking forwards to seeing how you taste."

He scrambled back and finally caught the crimson eyes of his attacker, just barely avoiding looking at the long fangs poking out from beneath his bloodless lips. "Y-You stay away from me."

The vampire followed him, and it was only too late that Rodreich realized that he had backed himself up against a wall…before he could throw himself aside, a hand suddenly came forwards and wrapped around his neck, trapping him against the hard surface. The creature smirked widely at him, but didn't say anything—he leaned down, teeth barely grazing the skin of his neck—

_Klang!_

"Oh, shit, mother fu—" The vampire stumbled backwards, clutching his head. Rodreich looked wide eyed at his savior, who was…

A girl. She had long brown hair and was wearing an ankle length green dress—he couldn't see her face, though, because she had her back to him. Rodreich also couldn't see her weapon, but he wasn't quite sure what would make that sort of noise while hitting someone. "You stay away of him," She hissed, her voice low and dangerous, "Cursed creature of the night."

Rodreich couldn't help but raise his eye brows—she pronounced 'cursed' like cur-sed, clearly stating both sides. _Who does she think she is, Shakespeare?_

The vampire straightened, and only too late Rodreich realized he'd forgotten to tell the girl to press her advantage—it was very hard to catch a vampire off guard, they were fast and—

Then, the vampire's blood-colored eyes widened in shock, and something tumbled from his breath, in low, almost _frightened _German. "_Der Schatten." _Then, it vanished.

Rodreich's eyes widened as well—from what little German he understood, he knew that 'Der Schatten' meant 'the shadow'. This woman was _not _playing a game…she was the killer of all sorts of underworld creatures everywhere, the boogey man used to scare young children, though she had only cropped up in the last five years.

Oh God. He needed to get out of here, or she would make mincemeat out of him.

He rose to his feet, brushing himself off and adjusting his clothes so they settled properly on him again. "Well that was interesting." The woman jumped, startled, obviously having forgotten about him being there. She turned around, and for a second Rodreich was made breathless by two emerald orbs—her eyes were a pool of passion and strength, but something more tender, too. Her face was small and heart shaped, but there was nothing weak about her.

She was absolutely beautiful.

And now Rodreich also knew what had made that noise—in one hand the woman carried a frying pan.

He coughed quietly, before starting up again. "Thank you very much, miss…?

"Elizaveta Hedervary." She was eyeing him curiously, though Rodreich didn't really understand why. "Why are you not terrified? You were just attacked by a creature that could have killed you." There was a light accent in her voice, and a light note of incredulity in her tone.

"Uh…" That's right. He'd gotten so used to creatures like vampires and such that he'd completely forgotten normal people were terrified of them. Oh well, it was too late to pretend otherwise. "Delayed reaction?" He guessed weakly.

Elizaveta still looked thoughtful. "…I suppose." Then, she checked her watch, and her eyes widened. "I think I'll escort you home now." She looked at the ceiling of the warehouse they were in with worried eyes, mouth pressed in a thin curve of displeasure. "It's not safe to be out at this time of night…especially with a full moon coming."

Rodreich's eyes widened as well, though for a different reason. He'd _completely _forgotten, with that vampire attacking him as he'd been walking to that place…! "No, that's quite alright." He said quickly, collecting his bag, which had been thrown a couple feet away. "I'm in a bit of a hurry, I _must _be going."

She followed him as he left the warehouse and onto the cobblestone street, catching hold of his coat sleeve with one hand, stopping him in his tracks. "Sir, you've been targeted by a vampire already tonight. I must _insist _that I at _least _take you to where you need to be going."

Rodreich glanced nervously at the sky, which was darkening much faster than he would have liked. _I don't have time for this. _He _could _always bring her to a false location nearby… "We must be quick." He said finally, coming to a split-second decision. "I don't have a lot of time to dawdle."

"I won't slow you down." Elizaveta promised fervently, almost eagerly as Rodreich began walking at a quick tempo. True to her word, she matched him in stride.

Five minutes of complete silence later, Rodreich was feeling kind of awkward. He _was _in the presence of a beautiful girl, and he wasn't saying anything. Maybe he should try to make small talk—though he'd never been good at small talk. He was useless when it came to dealing with relationships of any sort. Perhaps—

And then the first wave of pain hit him.

"_Nngh." _Rodreich stumbled and fell to the side, barely catching himself on the side of the nearby building, his sides rippling violently. He ignored Elizaveta's questions and arched his head, groaning in agony, waiting for the convulsions to pass. When it finally ended, he opened his eyes to see her worried green orbs staring at him.

"A-Are you okay?" Her hands were hovering uncertainly over his shoulders, as though she wanted to help him somehow, and she seemed a little panicky. But Elizaveta could never fix his problems.

"I'm fine." He pushed her away and staggered upright, shaking his head as his vision blurred, before beginning to limp back down the road. _Oh God, not here. Please, not here. Just another block… _He was determined to make it before anything bad happened…he didn't want any more deaths on his conscience.

Rodreich stiffened slightly when he felt Elizaveta slip in under his arm to help him. She immediately gasped. "You're burning up!"

Unconsciously he leaned heavily on her, steadying himself on her sturdy frame. "I know…" He rumbled, wincing at the sound of his own voice. "Take me…" Another ripple of agony—his back arched, and a low moan escaped his throat. "To…" Low, breathy pants began escaping his throat.

And then, something swooped in and lifted him, bridal style, from the ground. "I know where." A man's voice that had once been smug and arrogant was now grim. Rodreich relaxed in the man's arms, nodding. His kind may have been the natural prey of vampires, but they had a mutual understanding—protect the humans. Keep the underworld a secret.

The vampire sped up, quick enough to get to the place with plenty of time to spare—but then there was an unearthly clang, and the vampire stumbled and crashed to the ground, Rodreich tumbling out of his arms with a cry of pain. Elizaveta found them both a second later, and she retrieved her pan from the ground from where she had thrown it. She hovered over Rodreich protectively, who was now entertaining the real fear that he wouldn't make it in time. "Stay away from him!" Elizaveta shouted, holding her pan like a sword. "I'm warning you!"

The vampire was extremely worried now—his eyes flickered from the woman, to Rodreich moaning on the sidewalk, to the building down the street. Rodreich knew they were thinking the exact same thing—_so close…_

"_Der Schatten,_" The vampire began, eyes not leaving Rodreich's. "You have no idea what you are doing. Please just—"

"Oh, I understand, _Blood Drinker." _Elizaveta hissed back, brandishing her knife. "You were just planning on taking advantage of this poor, sick man. Well, I won't let you!"

Rodreich was about to call out to her, to tell her that the vampire was right, but all that escaped his lips was a low scream as another convulsion slammed into him. He curled into himself, shivering and spasming violently, gasping heavily through his teeth.

It was too late. The full moon splashed down onto his cheek, finally triggering the transformation.

He heard the gasp above him as Elizaveta saw what was happening to him, and with his hearing slowly sharpening he could hear the vampire's footsteps backing away from his shifting form. "G-Get away…" Rodreich moaned to the two of them, knowing it was probably futile. "RUN!" And then his vocal cords twisted and shifted into something else, and he knew that all that would leave his throat until morning were low, bloodthirsty growls.

For now, though, he just whimpered.

Elizaveta stood there, transfixed by what was occurring. The man she'd been walking with no longer appeared to be a man—he was turning into some sort of mutant, skin and bones shifting and squelching noisily, teeth lengthening…it was horrifying. It was disgusting. But…she couldn't look away. She was frozen with something—horror, fear, she didn't know. But all she could do was—

The Hungarian woman jumped and screamed when something cold dropped onto her bare arm. She whipped around…and caught sight of the crimson eyed vampire from earlier. She was a little unsure about him right now—after all, he _had _tried to warn her of this. Still, he _couldn't _be trusted—

"We don't have much time. We need to get out of her before he finishes transforming." He looked nervously behind her at the whimpering thing, before meeting her gaze again, which had narrowed with contempt and distrust. He threw up his arms in annoyance. "Oh, _come on! _We're fighting a common enemy now! You don't have to trust me, just _work with me _for _just one night!" _

Elizaveta looked at him, to Rodreich…and then scowled, a low note of anger creeping into her voice. "How do I know this isn't just some kind of trick?" She persisted before he could respond. "I can handle myself. You don't know who you're dealing with."

And then something _happened—_one second the vampire was standing in front of her, and the next he was behind her, mouth inches from her neck, one hand curled around her throat. When he spoke, there was an undercurrent of something _dark _and _powerful—_something she hadn't noticed before. The change was so abrupt that Elizaveta was left gasping in its wake. "If I wanted to…" She shivered as his breath brushed lightly against her skin, frozen in terror. "I could kill you. Right now. You say I don't know who I'm dealing with? Think again, _girlie._

"What that man is becoming can tear me apart in two seconds. You wouldn't stand a chance." His statement was punctuated by a low growl coming from the creature still shifting and _growing _on the sidewalk. "You have two choices: let me help you, or die."

The creature creaked and moaned, looking much more wolfish now than before, its clothes torn apart by its growth; the vampire breathed softly against her quivering flesh, though Elizaveta could tell he was a little nervous, and she weighed her options. She just stood there and tried to _decide. _Was she really going to risk it?

Death awaited on both sides.

But at least she could go down fighting.

"Ok." She said finally, breathing out as the vampire released her neck. She turned around and watched him expectantly. "What should we do?"

He glanced at the creature behind her, and his eyes suddenly widened. Again, he vanished—only this time, an arm clamped around her shoulders, and she found herself being lifted bridal style from the ground. A gasp of surprise escaped her, and she instinctively clutched onto the fabric of his shirt, simultaneously dropping her trusty pan onto the sidewalk. "Right now?" His knees bent into a low crouch. "We run."

The vampire sprang into the air, easily jumping on top of the lamppost several feet above their heads. A second later there was a loud crunch, and Elizaveta looked down to see that a strange, wolf like creature had just slammed into the spot where they had been a second before. Her grip tightened—a moment later and they would have both been dead.

And then they were soaring again, flying through the air as gracefully as a hawk, leaping from building to building—something was following them, though. Not the creature, but the loud howl of an animal, something inhuman. Elizaveta tried to look behind them to see if they were being pursued.

"Get your head down." The vampire grunted. She settled back into his arms. "It's not going anywhere—yet. That was its hunting cry. It's bored and it's looking for a game or two." He glanced down at her pensively. "You're regular old vanilla mortal, right?"

She folded her arms, narrowing her gaze. "Pay attention to where you're going." When she was certain he was looking at the rooftops again, she said in a clipped tone, "Yeah. So what?"

The vampire shrugged, now looking around with purpose—he obviously had decided that he knew where they were going to go. "You're the last thing that creature smelled. It's going to come after you—I'm a vampire, it's not going to go after me." There was one last final leap, and then they landed gracefully on top of some sort of warehouse, across town from the one they'd originally been in. "So we're going to make a trap. And guess what?" He walked to the edge of the building. "You're the bait."

Then he stepped off—Elizaveta shrieked, heart in her mouth, certain he was going to kill them. Instead of smashing into the ground like a pancake, though, the vampire gently crouched, supporting their weight easily. Not quite as frightened anymore, Elizaveta scrambled away from him and landed clumsily onto the pavement next to him—not _nearly _as graceful. He stared at her oddly.

A little self-conscious, Elizaveta smoothed her dress, fingers brushing instinctively over her belt where she kept her frying pan. She felt extremely vulnerable without her usual weapon of choice. "What are you staring at?"

"You didn't make one noise—_not one—_this entire time, and when I just step off—_that's _when you scream?" He shook his head. "You're a weird girl."

"All those other times we didn't just suddenly _fall." _She responded indignantly. "At least last time you gave me some warning!" Then, she paused as she remember what'd he'd said to her right before they'd fallen—or jumped, she couldn't tell—off the building. "And what do you _mean _I'm the bait?"

"Well…" The vampire began, scratching his head, and then blurted, "Er…Gilbert."

Confused, Elizaveta stared at him. "Uh…what?"

"That's my name. You never asked." Gilbert scratched his cheek awkwardly, staring her down with his crimson eyes. "What's yours?" Her face twisted with distrust once more, and he rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on! What am I supposed to do with a name?"

"Not until you tell me what the whole bait thing is about." Elizaveta folded her arms, glaring at the vampire with narrowed eyes.

He threw up his hands, a gusty sigh escaping his throat. "Fine, fine. Whatever. See, it's kind of dangerous."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Wow, I didn't realize." Sarcasm dripped from every word.

For some reason, he didn't seem to notice it—he just continued on, nodding importantly, a smug grin beginning to spread across his pale face. "Yes, yes. But don't worry! The awesome me is here, so everything will turn out alright."

"That's not okay." The huntress responded angrily, "I don't _need _to be the bait. You're just putting me in danger because I'm a hunter!"

The vampire stared at her for a second, mock thoughtful expression on his face, before he said, "If you don't, this creature—which could kill me easily—will come after the rest of the people in the city. The majority will be killed. A few unlucky ones will be converted into werewolves, and then the Underground Magic world—which, I might add, is already stretched for space—will have to find more room to store these guys for the full moon. Not only that, but it'll be a bitch with clean up—erasing memories, making it look like nothing happened." Ignoring her shocked expression, Gilbert gestured lightly in the air. "See, it's kind of important."

It took her a second to recover, but when she did she blinked a few times, before nodding. A small part of her told her not to trust this vampire, but she pushed it away—even if she did die, at least she'd die doing something she thought was right. Besides, as far as she could tell he was being honest—but you could never tell with these creatures.

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, Gilbert outlined his plan, which wasn't actually all that detailed. "So I'm going to make a magicky trap, and you're going to be bait. You will stand in the center of the trap, and when I say go you will throw yourself aside. I will activate the trap, and _presto! _We will have ourselves a new pet werewolf."

If Elizaveta's eyebrows went up anymore, they might disappear into her hair. "Oh really?"

Gilbert nodded solemnly, though the grin never left his face. "All you need to do is stand there and act…humany."

"Humany? How exactly do I act like that?" She shifted, allowing a small smirk to grace her lips. The change in attitude was welcomed after such a heavy speech.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "It's been a while since I was human."

"Don't you read?" The huntress's smirk widened. "Or are you just illiterate?"

At this, Gilbert stiffened. She tensed as well, keeping her ears perked for the sound of the werewolf—but there was nothing. Because of her nervousness, Elizaveta nearly went for the vampire's throat when he cleared his voice, and said in a high-pitched voice, "_Oh Edward! Bite me!" _His voice switched to a lower tone. Elizaveta's mouth dropped. "_I can't, darling, because I am an emo, angsty vampire and a luuurve you._" Again, his voice switched. "_But I luuuuurve you too, Eddy-poo!" _Low. _"I luuuurve you, but I want to bite you. Oh, decisions, decisions." _

Elizaveta couldn't help it. She burst out laughing.

Gilbert relaxed, speaking threw her loud cackles. "You can tell how much stock I put into modern literature."

Oh _geez. _She couldn't breathe, but she also couldn't. _Stop. Laughing. _What made the whole thing funnier was that a _vampire _had just said that—a _vampire _was making fun of Twilight, which was _so _surreal. It didn't help that the fool was still grinning like a madman, looking very pleased into at having spawned that sort of reaction from her. After several seconds, she brushed the tears away from her eyes, "That," She breathed, "Just pretty much summed up the entire series."

He bowed. "Why thank you, Mademoiselle."

Her chuckles subsided, and the situation suddenly crashed back down on her. She looked around, silently cursing the vampire for making her laugh like that, for seeming…normal. Elizaveta couldn't forget that he was still a vampire, her mortal enemy.

He in turn sensed the change of emotion, and sighed quietly. "One moment," He muttered, bending down, a stark change from his cheerful attitude just seconds earlier. This surprised her slightly—did Gilbert actually _care _what she thought about him? Surely not—he was just a vampire, a soulless monster…

Who made fun of Twilight.

Okay, so he _did _get brownie points for that.

As the vampire removed a piece of chalk from his bag, Elizaveta approached him uncertainly. When he looked up at her questioningly and with just a hint of weariness, she said quietly, "Do you…need any help with that?"

Gilbert blinked once, twice—before his face split into a wide grin, which made her breath catch in her throat. There was such simplistic happiness in his eyes, as though just by extending the tentative olive branch she had made his day. Without a word he threw her a tiny bag, which she caught only due to her quick reflexes. "That's silver dust in there." He explained. "When I draw the circle, start throwing that all around the inside."

Elizaveta peered inside the bag, and from what she could tell, that was definitely silver dust.

When they were finished with the werewolf trap, Gilbert told her to stand in the center of the circle and act natural—"Not that it would really matter." The vampire said after a second. "The werewolf doesn't exactly notice if you're acting suspicious. And remember, when I say jump, jump aside really fast or you're a goner!"

Yeah, that was real reassuring.

"Wait…" She stopped, looking around curiously. "If that werewolf's so fast, why isn't he here yet?"

Gilbert shrugged, and recited as though he'd heard it many times, "A werewolf's mind is always last to go. The host will fight to the bitter end to retain hold, which gives you about five minutes." A small smirk spread across his face, and his voice returned to that usual confident tone. "And Roddy's especially stubborn, so that's ten minutes."

Elizaveta started. "You…know his name?"

Gilbert suddenly looked a little uncomfortable, as though he hadn't really meant to say that bit. "Well…there're not a lot of werewolves in this part of town, so we end up seeing each other a lot."

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion—to her knowledge, vampires and werewolves didn't usually mix at all. "What do you mean by that?"

The vampire paused and looked out at the open door of the warehouse, simply observing for a second. Then he closed his eyes and took a long, deep sniff, as though smelling the air. Seemingly satisfied, he finally turned to look back at her. "I guess it couldn't hurt. We have time. But be warned; this is a bit of a history lesson. Stay standing, and stay alert."

Now more intrigued than ever, Elizaveta shuffled into a comfortable standing position and fixed her green eyes on Gilbert's own crimson ones. He sat and settled down next to the circle, focused in on the door, and began to explain his story. "A long time ago, the Americas were inhabited by werewolves and vampires. Don't interrupt." He shot her a sideways glance when she opened her mouth to ask a question. "There were literally no underworld creatures outside of the Americas, besides _maybe_ in the Antarctic. Anyway, werewolves were the main source of food for a vampire; they couldn't be killed by one, couldn't be converted (or being turned into a vampire or a werewolf due to being bitten—don't interrupt!), and they replenished easily. There were no humans in the Americas, and…well, we were happy. Werewolves could change without killing innocents, unless of course they ripped apart a werewolf from a neighboring clan, and vampires could feed as they pleased.

"Then the humans came. I have to admit, Roanoke was our fault…we had no idea what or who you guys were. But after we'd killed all of you or converted, we thought it was all over with. Sure we felt bad about it, but we thought you were gone."

Here Gilbert took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as though remembering something horrible. It took a minute, but he was finally able to speak through gritted teeth. Elizaveta listened, enraptured by the story.

"You humans came, only..." He spat it out as though it were a swear word. "You finally had _outnumbered _us. We died of sickness, we died when you lit the skies with your red fire…it was a massacre." He looked away, eyebrows furrowed with anger; it was clear that he no longer wanted to talk about the subject.

Surprised, the vampire huntress just stared at him—it was as though he _himself _had experienced the tragedy…but that was impossible, he couldn't be older than twenty…and then she remembered. _Vampires are immortal. They look just as young as they did when they turned, and will remain that way until killed. _She could have kicked herself for forgetting that fact.

There was only one way to confirm her suspicions.

"Gilbert, how…old are you?" Elizaveta didn't flinch when his angry gaze fixed on her.

He paused for just a second…and then his eyes caught sight of something behind her, and his angry expression suddenly melted from his face, replaced by a one of horror. She froze, and very slowly closed her eyes, biting her lower lip, already knowing what he had seen. Her core began to numb—she suddenly lost all feeling, just a cold calmness.

"On three," Gilbert said quietly, eyes focused in on what was behind her, "You jump. Really fast."

She nodded minutely, not opening her eyes, clenching her fists by her sides.

"You…you're going to be okay." His tone never rose above a low drone. "Do you have a family?" The vampire asked suddenly, voice light—but there was just the slightest undercurrent of panic, which ruined the whole affect.

"Cousins." She managed to spit out, releasing her lower lip, unconsciously drawing up a picture of her relatives.

"Tell me about them."

Yes, Elizaveta could do that. She opened her eyes just a slit, and remembering. "There's…Feliciano." A bronze-haired man with a wide smile, perpetually squinting, his skin a light olive tone. "He's a wimp. He's Italian, and he really loves pasta. He's…got a boyfriend."

Gilbert made a noise in the back of his throat and tensed—she did as well. However a second later he motioned for her to continue, and it took her a precious moment to start speaking again. There was a tremor in her voice now, though.

"T-The guy's name is Ludwig. I-It's funny, because he used to bully Feli when he was younger." She choked out a soft laugh—his eyes flickered to her for just a second, a small smile curling his lips, before they moved back to the thing behind her. The huntress ignored this reaction, and instead continued talking about her family. "Feli's got a brother. Lovino."

She stopped, staring at the pale man sitting before her. He was perfectly still, one hand on the edge of the chalked circle, the other hanging limply next to him—it was his eyes, though, that had her staring. The crimson orbs were completely focused on the thing behind her; he didn't blink once, seemingly engaged in a staring contest.

Did she trust this man to keep her safe?

Did she even have a _choice?_

The thought danced in her head, curled into her ears, until it was all she knew, loud and roaring in her ears. _Do I have a choice? _

"My name." She said quietly, and though his eyes didn't move, she knew he was listening. "It's Elizaveta."

His gaze broke, and his eyes fell on hers, his mouth opening simultaneously. "Jump, Elizaveta." He said simply, and she threw herself onto the ground next to him.

It all happened to fast for her to understand, and everything came in little snapshots—out of the corner of her eye she spotted Gilbert moving, but it was almost unnoticeable, because then the floor came towards her. As she was partway through her roll she managed to catch sight of the werewolf, but it was only an image; a fraction of a second. Claws extended to cut her, manic eyes blank with hunt-lust, yellowed saliva dripping from its jowls, but she didn't even have enough time to be terrified before she continued moving. She pulled out of her roll, sprawling forwards on the ground, hearing a sharp cracking noise—and then there was a loud, shrieking howl, the scream of a creature who'd just been denied its prey.

Time returned to normal.

Elizaveta whipped around, scrambling backwards, away from the circle and the trapped creature…and a close brush with death. Her breath escaped her in quick pants as she watched the werewolf throw itself at the invisible wall, roaring angrily. Her eyes flicked to the side and met Gilbert's, who watched her with a similar wide-eyed expression, mouth slack, panting deeply.

A laugh bubbled up from the base of his throat.

A giggle spilled from her lips.

A second later the two of them were rolling on the ground, cracking up hysterically at nothing at all. Elizaveta was laughing so hard that tears began to run from her eyes—and she had no idea why she was crying until a relieved shout broke from her in a rush of air. "We're alive!"

Gilbert rolled over until he was lying next to her, a wide grin spread across his face. "I told you it would work!" He yelled at her joyously, and for once she found that she didn't mind the appearance of his giant fangs. "Didn't I?"

And then without warning, he suddenly leaned forwards and kissed her.

Her jaw slackened in surprised and her eyes widened as his lips contacted hers—it was passionate and full of something she couldn't name. Subconsciously she knew that it was just the heat of the moment that had the vampire kissing her, but it still took all the air out of her lungs.

The pale man pulled back, blinking. He seemed more shocked than she was—this was made evident by the fact that he vanished, reappearing five feet away, looking, still blinking owlishly. She watched him, jaw still loose. "Um." He stuttered, backing away. "I—uh—I should…" He nearly tripped over his own feet, and finally turned around. "Go. Yeah. Um. Nice meeting you. Yeah."

And then he vanished.

* * *

><p>Rodreich groaned, and rolled over. It took him only a second to realize that something was wrong. "I," He began, examining his skin, "Am completely naked."<p>

"I noticed."

He looked up, and caught the tired eyes of the girl who'd rescued him last night. She was hunched over her folded legs, elbows on her thighs, watching him intently, which he actually found to be a little uncomfortable. "Ahem." He cleared his throat, discretely shifting so that the majority of his body was facing away from the girl. "What happened last night?" He _did _hope that he hadn't gotten drunk or anything…he didn't have a headache at all, though his muscles did feel a little sore…

She blinked at him in surprise, before slowly straightening up and rolling her shoulders. He idly wondered how long she'd been sitting there, staring at him. "Full moon." Came the low, grumpy grunt.

His world crashed with that single statement.

It took a second for him to speak. "N-No." He tumbled from his numb lips, his vision beginning to tunnel.

"Hey." The girl said, frowning slightly, confused. She jumped when he slammed his fist into the ground, blinking at him, surprised. "Woah!"

"_No!" _Rodreich reached up and gripped his head, eyes slammed shut, bowed low with horror, the nights memories slamming into him. He remembered…that vampire, the girl…being late to the place where he was supposed to change…transforming in the middle of the sidewalk, and then—blank. Just a horrifying, empty chasm in his memories. "I—I just…" Who had he killed? Who had his wolfish form destroyed? "How many?" He gasped, dropping his head and lurching forwards. He seemed to have frightened the woman, because she scooted back a bit.

"Excuse me?" She was staring at him as though he were crazy. He couldn't believe her callousness—he was so close to shaking her.

"How many dead!" It practically came out as a scream.

There was a long, dead silence. Tears began to drip from Rodreich's face as he conjured the images of past rampages—the deadened expressions of his victims as they learned their new fates, the torn bodies of people he'd once called friends…

_Not again._

"Oh, hey, you're getting the wrong idea."

He slowly looked up, face crumpled with pain. "Don't you dare tell me that."

She rolled her eyes and gestured towards the floor just an inch in front of him. "No, I don't mean like that. Look at what you're in."

The werewolf ruthlessly crushed the hope that blossomed from her statement—too many times he'd thought everything would be okay…his eyes slowly traveled down, across her arm, and onto the ground. At first he couldn't see anything except a glittering layer of what appeared to be dust on the floor, but then he noticed the light white curve. His eyes followed it; there seemed to be a chalk circle drawn around him. For a second he could only stare at it, but then his wide-eyed expression dragged itself back up to those green eyes. If that was what he thought it was…

_A containment circle. _

"How…?" He whispered, not quite daring to believe.

For some reason, the brunette hesitated just a second before answering, an odd expression on her face. "Well…it was that vampire. He knew how to do it."

Rodreich slowly reached forwards and lightly touched the clear barrier. His shoulders began to shake, and he shut his eyes, ignoring the tears that once again began to drip down his face—but not sadness. This time it was happiness. "Thank you." He whispered, and drew his arm across his wet cheeks. He honestly didn't even care how pathetic he looked, because for once he had managed not to kill anyone, managed not to ruin someone's life—for once, his soul hadn't broken in two because of his mistake. "Thank you." He sobbed.

"Uh, you're welcome…" She obviously felt extremely awkward by the whole thing. There was a shuffling noise, and the quick sound of footsteps. "I'm going to go grab you some clothes now…"

And then she was gone.

Several minutes later, after he was feeling good and drained from all his tears and turbulent emotion changes, Rodreich suddenly realized something kind of important.

"…she left me in here." He touched the barrier again with his hand, frowning. "How am I supposed to get out now?"

* * *

><p>Gilbert touched his lips, blushing furiously.<p>

_Why did I do that? _He wondered, curling his other hand around the arm of his couch. _I kissed a girl. A _human _girl. Who kills my kind for a living. _

Not to mention how he reacted after he'd done the deed. So unawesome, just running away like a nervous little school girl. And yet…there was something almost magnetizing about Elizaveta.

His eyebrows furrowed as he thought.

She was beautiful. She was strong, courageous, brave, and she cared about others. And even though he had just met her, whenever he thought about her there was a flutter in his chest that he just couldn't explain.

"Impossible…" Gilbert muttered, finally lowering his hand. A relationship between a human and a vampire could never happen unless…unless of course he converted her into one of his own kind, but he sincerely doubted that she would ever want to have that happen. Besides, existing as a vampire in this day and age was hard enough as it was—every day he would hear horror stories about his kind drinking human blood out of desperation and hunger, only to go mad the next day.

He needed to forget about beautiful, strong Elizaveta and move on.

But he secretly couldn't help hoping that they would cross paths again sometime soon.

**Whew! Well, that wasn't as long as the last chapter, but it was still 6,000 words. Plus, it's most definitely going to have a sequel...I actually have something very interesting planned for these three, so look out for that. No spoilers, though.**

**Completely unedited, so sorry for any roughness or mistakes. **

**For those of you who want my massive project: I had to make some major changes to the second part, specifically chapter 11 and 12. I literally had to delete them both. Good news, though: as soon as my beta finishes editing up to the first part, I'll post the first chapter. I'm so excited! Of course, it means the hiatus of this story...only five more after this one. If I ever get to it, I'm going to make one hundred shots, but for now it's got to stay at 50, which is a big enough number by itself. That's a lot of AU concepts and ideas, people! Luckily though, I've got plenty coming. **

**Special shoutout to Gargoyle Alchemist, who's actually being my editor for my project (Title: Condemn the Free!...except you know, without all the exclamation points). You're awesome!**

**And of course, my lovely reviewers. Thanks for sticking with me, guys! Always appreciate it!**

**Roxassoul: Oh, totally. Wouldn't want poor Canada turning out like the pervy Frenchie, right? Actually, I'm a little curious how that would have turned out...darn it. New AU idea!**

**The Gargoyle Alchemist: Yeah, that last one was sitting in Microsoft for a while and it just kept getting loooonger...I'm always looking for explanations in every single little thing, so I like to be thorough with my AU ideas; I like to make them plausible, instead a load of complete bull. Do you have something against the word gasp? Le gasp! IguessIjustwon'tputanymoregaspsin...thanks for letting me know :) . I'm kicking myself for all of those mistakes...maybe I'll fix them, though going back over that ginormous piece is a little daunting. Maybe after the hiatus. (P.S. Just draw whatever you think will fit. If you want to wait until you get a little more context, that's fine too. P.P.S. Here's your freaking chapter. I hope you're happy X) .)**

**Secret-H: Don't worry, he comes back! Eventually...he wouldn't leave his best friends and his brother, after all! That's very unheroic! Thanks for the review. :)**

**Also, thanks to everyone who followed/faved. Of course, I'd be a little happier if you gave me a little critique, but I'll stick with what I got. **

**Countdown to hiatus: 5**

**IcEckos12 **

**P.S. Listening too: Night Visions album by the Imagine Dragons.**

**P.P.S. I nearly forgot to edit the beginning part, because I completely unintentionally made it look like a sexual attack scene. Not cool -_-.**


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